


The Boyfriend Experience

by cryingoverspilledvodka



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Additional Tag Warnings in Chapter Summaries, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Blackmail, Chp 16: Threat of Violence, Chp17: Threat of Violence. Implied drug Use by OC, Everybody still skates, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Power Play, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 261,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9285461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryingoverspilledvodka/pseuds/cryingoverspilledvodka
Summary: Katsuki Yuuri is an accomplished escort at 23, operating under the pseudonym Eros, in Detroit. When one of his favourite clients sets him up with none other than world-renowned figure skater Victor Nikiforov, the delicate balance between Yuuri's personal and professional life teeters ever closer towards ruin.—Russian translation by the extremely talented vikadzhere





	1. Rendezvous

_If I told you, this was only gonna hurt_  
_If I warned you, that the fire's gonna burn  
_ _Would you walk in?_

* * *

 

 

 

Katsuki Yuuri had never been anyone's boyfriend before.

The closest thing to romance he'd ever gotten was the crush he had on Yuuko-chan, back home in Japan. And that was when he was nine. (Though she had kissed him once, just off-centre when she had aimed for his cheek). The only other infactuation Yuuri had to speak of was with Victor Nikiforov, Russia's pride and joy of figure-skating. But he wasn't exactly alone on the world in that. And the courtship consisted entirely of Yuuri admiring Nikiforov's poster from his bed.

So to say Yuuri was inexperienced in relationships was putting it lightly.

He had never given it much thought. It wasn't particularly uncommon in the small town where he was from. But that all changed when Yuuri got to America.

Yuuri was granted passage on the back of a scholarship for his own figure-skating. A scholarship he had promptly lost by flunking out terribly at the Grand Prix Final at the end of November, just last weekend. Which led to Yuuri's current situation;

'It really isn't that bad.'

'Yes it is. It is that bad. It's worse, it's hell,' Yuuri lamented, hiding in his face in his arms on the table. The campus bar was buzzing, low lights and Christmas music already playing, with students ambling around them all before the big Finals rush. Phichit Chulanont, his room and rink-mate there in Detroit, was now rubbing Yuri's back sympathetically.

'At least you got to meet Victor!' Phichit offered.

'He didn't even recognise me as a competitor,' Yuuri complained, embarrassment at the memory of meeting his idol, Victor Nikiforov, briefly at the Grand Prix, only for Nikiforov to offer him a commemorative photo as acknowledgement. 'Besides, that's not even the worst part. What am I going to do about my fees without a scholarship?'

'You can reapply next semester. You will be back in your groove by then,' Phichit offered, his English a little slow as the fellow-skater had only left Thailand five months prior. He hadn't prepared like Yuuri had. Phichit patted Yuuri's shoulder before moving, presumably to take a sip of his soda.

'I don't think I should skate anymore. I think I've embarrassed myself enough for one lifetime,' Yuuri said dejectedly, sitting up to meet Phichit's frown. 'Also- back in my groove?'

'It was in one of my Penguin Guide. Did I not say it right? Anyway, you cannot quit,' Phichit said, putting his Coke down with a little more force than necessary. Yuuri sighed, rubbing at his eyes beneath his glasses. 'You are the most talented skater I know!'

'Clearly,' Yuuri deadpanned. Phichit looked at him for a moment. 'I mean, thank you. But I've decided.'

'I think you are making a mistake,' Phichit said, using his drink to signal Yuuri. Yuuri hummed in acknowledgment, taking another sip of his water.

'Yuuri!'

A girl started waving at them from the bar. She was blonde and American; loud, so her voice carried well over the crowd. Yuuri recognised her as Hannah, one of the girls from his lectures. Although a bit overly friendly at times, Yuuri really liked her. Despite the numerous party photos she was tagged in on Facebook, her passion for the subject meant Yuuri met her more often than not in the library.

Hannah sat down at their table, squeezing Yuuri in against Phichit; 'Hey! How're you?'

'I'm okay-' Yuuri started before Phichit interrupted.

'Yuuri's quitting skating,' Phichit said, completely ratting Yuuri out. Yuuri glared at him as Hannah absently patted her finger against the lipstick on her lips.

'Oh? Why?' she asked, curiosity genuine though her eyes were now scanning the bar.

'It's nothing-' Phichit squawked in protest. '-Well, I lost my scholarship, so it just seems like there's little point in continuing,' Yuuri confessed, Phichit proving somewhat correct as the need to get it out beat his self-consciousness about it. Hannah met his eyes then. Hers were blue and searching. Yuuri had never met anyone with blue eyes before her.

'You lost your scholarship?' Yuuri nodded, fidgeting with the end of his sweatshirt. Hannah's mouth opened into a rosy _o_ ; 'But how will you pay your fees?!'

Yuuri flushed. They were so easy to talk about money, Americans. He always forgot that. Yuuri spun his glass of water slowly, condensation on his fingers.

'I- I'm not sure. I'm trying not think about it. If I think about it too much, I think I'd just freak out.'

'Do you need money?' Hannah asked immediately, causing the colour in Yuuri's cheeks to tumble all the way down his neck at her forwardness. He held his hands up, shaking his head. Before he could stutter out a _no thank you_ though, Hannah reached out and took one of his hands, meeting Yuuri's gaze straight; 'If you're stuck, guy, let me know. I'll help you out.'

'Ah. Um, thank you,' Yuuri said, bowing his head a little to her. Hannah nodded, turning back to her observation of the room. Phichit leant a little forward, continuing his conversation with Yuuri like nothing had happened.

'Ciao-Ciao will not be happy if you quit, Yuuri.'

Yuuri tried to listen, but mostly he couldn't stop focusing on Hannah, and the way she ran a hand through her long, blonde hair in a way that made it look so inviting. Yuuri could see a few guys across the bar staring. Yuuri wondered, briefly, if how Hannah felt now felt similar to how Yuuri used to feel on the ice.

 

* * *

 

 

'There's no pressure, it's just drinks,' Hannah said, using her ring finger to blend blush on her cheeks. They were in Hannah's dorm-room. She had a single one, all to herself. It had two windows, both looking out over campus. The trees were just bare outside in the winter frost. Yuuri had always wondered how she could afford it.

'I understand,' Yuuri said, perhaps a little too quickly as Hannah turned around to give _a look_. Yuuri blushed, unable to help himself, sitting lower on the bed and fidgeting with the watch Hannah insisted he wear.

'I just need someone for his friend. Just to talk to him, or something,' Hannah said, walking over in her too-high heels, sequined dress winking in a way that Yuuri knew most ice-skating costumes would dream of. 'And you like guys right?'

Yuuri spluttered, still appalled at Hannah's bluntness at times. Hannah rolled her eyes.

'Or you like guys as well, at least,' she continued, perfectly manicured hands brushing off imaginary dust from Yuuri's suited shoulders. Hannah bent down to Yuuri's level, looking at him kindly. 'Just pretend it's like a date. No expectations.'

Yuuri felt like calling what they were going to do 'a date' very much implied expectations. Hannah stood back, looking Yuuri up and down for a moment before deciding something. She came back, undoing Yuuri's blue tie and slipping it off him. She opened the first three buttons of his shirt in it's stead. Yuuri watched her the whole time, unsure.

'This tie is hideous, you're not wearing it. Looks like you're giving a presentation or something,' Hannah said matter-of-factly, throwing the tie across the bed. She gave him another once over, turning to her dresser to grab a bottle of something and then coming back. 'And your hair. I need to fix it.'

Hannah used the hair-gel to slick Yuuri's hair back. Yuuri was familiar with the ministrations. He always wore his hair out of his face for skating as well. To be honest, the longer this went on, the more Yuuri felt like he did when he was about to step out on the ice. It was like trying on being someone new. Only this time there would be no one to score him for it, no medals looming. He could leave any time he wanted to- could he? Hannah needed him. And what if he was bad at this? Yuuri smiled weakly, thanking Hannah.

'There,' she said, standing back to admire her work. 'Now all we have to do is hope your date likes glasses. Because there's no doubt he'll like you.'  
  
'I'm not so sure,' Yuuri said, anxiety creeping in around him. Yuuri had never flirted in his life. Wouldn't even know where to start. 'I've never done anything like this before.'  
  
Hannah thought about that for a moment, biting one of her perfect lips. Then, she turned and grabbed her desk chair, pulling it over and in front of Yuuri. She sat down in front of him, knees together in perfect poise.  
  
'I'm going to give you some tips,' Hannah said. Yuuri opened his mouth, about to ask why he needed tips if it were just drinks but she seemed to read his mind. 'Look, you don't have to do anything. Just talk, I promise. But I think it's important we follow the same rules anyway, just in case. Okay?'  
  
Yuuri nodded. The rules, as it turned out, were simple. Whatever Yuuri did, he didn't study in Detroit. Not anymore. When asked, he wouldn't be from Kyushu. (His accent for English, though neutral enough from years of study, wasn't fluent yet to be considered native). He didn't have a cellphone, so no- he had no number to give. No, he didn't live nearby. Hannah wasn't his classmate- they met through book club, years ago. The tips Hannah suggested were less practical. Lots of casual touches, eye-contact. All those things Yuuri was really bad at.  
  
'And your name,' Hannah said finally, pushing a strand of beautiful hair behind her ear. 'Your name is not Yuuri. And my name is not Hannah.'  
  
'What is your name?' Yuuri asked. Hannah smiled, all teeth.  
  
'Eurus,' she said and Yuuri looked behind her to the bookshelf, Greek studies and the classics looking back at him. 'And tonight, you're Eros.'  
  
Yuuri choked, stuttering; _'W-what?_ That's ridiculous!'  
  
Hannah pouted. 'No, it's sexy. With a name like that, half of the flirting is already sorted just by what the guy's imagining. Trust me, it'll be less work for you.'  
  
Yuuri highly doubted that, but the sound of it made his heart beat a little faster with panic. Hannah sighed, standing up to get her bag.  
  
'Eurus and Eros,' she said, like it was obvious. 'I've used it before, and trust me, people love it. It's Latin, it rhymes. They love that shit. And it'll save you time trying to think of a name quickly. Think you can manage just for tonight?'  
  
Hannah took Yuuri's hands, pulling him up off the bed. She smiled at him, lips red and lashes elegantly long. Yuuri's knees went a little weak as she looked at him, eyes sparkling; 'For me, Yuuri?'  
  
Yuuri nodded, admitting defeat.

 

* * *

 

Christophe Giacometti was only twenty-one, two years older than Yuuri, but he was infinitely more refined.

Christophe was Swiss, or so he told Yuuri, who found his accent so difficult that Christophe could've told Yuuri he was from the moon and he'd believe him. He also asked Yuuri to call him _Chris_ almost immediately, causing Yuuri to flush in response. Chris was tall with one of those faces that seemed trained for beauty with his big eyes and full lips, every expression he made pretty from any angle. His eyes were hazel, with a green that cut through them anytime he smiled in Yuuri's direction. Which was often.

Hannah and her 'date', (a broad shouldered guy with dark hair), were otherwise occupied, quiet conversation now shifting into straight up kissing in their small booth at the restaurant. Yuuri avoided looking at them, which only left him with Chris next to him. Chris was very friendly and patient with Yuuri's English, which Yuuri had always been proud of until this moment.

'You really shouldn't be embarrassed,' Chris cooed over the rim of his wine glass. This only served to make Yuuri blush more. 'Your English is really lovely.'

'Wow, thank you,' Yuuri said, having never had anything of his ever called _lovely_.

'Tell me more about yourself. I feel I've been terribly self-absorbed,' Chris said, putting his glass down and sliding along the seat. They were almost touching now. Yuuri tried to relax, to remind himself that everything they were doing was all he had to do.  
  
'What-' Yuuri's voice was a little high with nerves. He swallowed thickly and tried again, not missing how Chris' eyes dropped to his neck as he did so. He found Yuuri attractive. The thought made Yuuri's heart race. 'What would you like to know?'  
  
'Where are you from?' Chris asked, sidling up a little closer, taking another sip of his wine. Yuuri fidgeted with his own glass, relatively untouched. He hated wine.  
  
'Tokyo,' Yuuri answered immediately. Chris raised his eyebrows.  
  
'City boy, then,' Chris said with a smile that made Yuuri's stomach do a flip. Chris picked up his fork, poking at a stray leaf of salad left on his plate. 'I prefer small towns myself. So I suppose Detroit hasn't been that difficult a move for you.'  
  
Yuuri thought of Hannah's rules, panicked; 'I don't live here!'  
  
Chris blinked at the outburst, then chuckled quietly. It was low, and flirty, and Yuuri had never heard anyone laugh at him like that before. A waiter came to clear the table, finally bringing Hannah and her own date back to the conversation. They all talked amicably about travel, for the most part, Chris and his friend coming all the way from Europe. Yuuri found the conversation surprisingly easy, familiar with timezone adjustments himself. Jokes came pretty well, too.  
  
'So, Christophe,' Hannah said, tinkling laugh at her date's story fading out effortlessly. 'Luca says you're a figure-skater. That's amazing. You know about skating though, don't you, Eros?'  
  
It took Yuuri longer than it probably should have to remember that he was Eros. Yuuri made a small noise of agreement, but his heart was in his throat. _Chris was a figure-skater?_ What were the chances? Yuuri couldn't believe it. Chris looked at Yuuri, eyes ablaze with curiosity.  
  
'Really? Do you skate yourself?' Chris asked, excitement evident.  
  
'I- um, no. Not really,' Yuuri stammered, realising too late that he needed to be someone other than himself. He decided to go with half-truths, as all the lies were getting too big to remember. 'I follow the competitions though. I find skating beautiful.'  
  
Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Chris' eyes turned so much darker. Like the wood colour of them had burnt.  
  
Yuuri lost track of the time now, desserts coming and going in what felt like moments. Himself and Chris were too far gone into their conversation to really appreciate their food, their plates only half-empty when they were cleared. Yuuri knew he had drank just a little bit too much, wine becoming easier with each sip, body loose and face red with it. But it was very hard to care, he was beginning to have so much fun. He didn't even mind when one of Chris' hands made it to his thigh, giggling when Chris skirted where he was ticklish.

'I'm going to the bar for another round,' Chris said to the table before turning to address Yuuri directly. He squeezed Yuuri's thigh for a moment. 'Can I get you anything, Eros?'  
  
'Water, actually. Would be lovely,' Yuuri said, some part of him thinking he should sober up soon before he lost complete control over the situation. Chris winked, leaning forward boldly and kissing Yuuri on the cheek. Yuuri squeaked, unable to stop himself.  
  
'Eros, could you come help me with my dress for a second?' Hannah asked, all simple glamour as she slipped out of the booth. Yuuri nodded, unsure of how to respond. Luca waved them off cheerily, downing the last of his own drink.

In the bathroom, Hannah took an envelope out of her bag. She held it out to Yuuri, face skillfully blank. Yuuri stared at it, frozen. Hannah sighed in impatience.

'Go on, take it,' she said.

'I'm not sure I should,' Yuuri said quietly. Truth was, he was afraid to take it. Afraid of what it would mean to do so. What he would have to do to _earn it_. Hannah watched him carefully, blue eyes sharp.

'You don't have to do anything. You did me a favour, coming with me. It's only fair you get half. Besides, you need it,' she said, tactfully placing the envelope on the sink counter. Yuuri found he couldn't look away from it. Hannah reached out, taking his shoulder. 'Luca and I will be leaving soon. It'll just be you and Chris. Remember, it's just drinks and he knows that. But at eleven pm, exactly, you have to ditch him, okay?'

Yuuri tugged at his watch, moving it around his wrist. Hannah stepped a bit closer.  
  
'You have to leave at eleven, okay, Yuuri? We have to be strict with the timing, otherwise they think they can get away with something for free. You understand?'

'Okay,' Yuuri said. Hannah smiled before telling him she was going back out to Luca, leaving Yuuri and the envelope alone.

Yuuri took a couple of breaths before he opened it and counted. He then proceeded to nearly drop it all in the sink.

Fifteen-hundred dollars. _Fifteen hundred dollars._  
  
It was like a switch had gone off deep in Yuuri's mind. Chris had paid _fifteen hundred dollars_ just for Yuuri's company. It was like winning the Japanese nationals all over again. An overwhelming, electric rush of accomplishment. Tangible, valuable worth to Yuuri's name. Yuuri was _wanted,_ more than that- suddenly, Yuuri was someone worth wanting. Top of the podium.  
  
Yuuri took his time freshening up. He slicked his hair back again, tucking the envelope safe in his breast lining pocket. He looked at himself in the mirror.  
  
It was just like the ice. But Yuuri had already won, had already gotten his reward. And with that knowledge, his nerves ebbed away. Katsuki Yuuri, anxious neurotic and failed skater slipped off him like a shirt to the floor. Yuuri practiced a smirk in the mirror.

Yuuri may not be worth fifteen hundred dollars. But if Yuuri was willing to try, and he was- then Eros certainly could be.

 

* * *

 

_Four years later..._

 

* * *

 

Victor threw the vodka back with a pace that got him a low whistle from his friend. Chris was shaking his head, taking a deliberately slow sip of his wine as they both sat at the hotel bar. Victor ignored him, flagging the bartender to order another one.

'You don't even like vodka,' Chris said, putting his glass down on the bar. Victor shrugged, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt while he waited.

'It's a special occasion,' Victor replied, tossing his head a little to get his hair out of his face. Chris watched the movement, hazel eyes dark.

'Your short-program at Germany was impressive, I'll give you that.'

'Not a celebration. This is a wake,' Victor said, slipping a five dollar bill to the bartender for the vodka he just brought.

Chris paused over reaching for his wine; 'Who died?'

'My inspiration,' Victor lamented, taking the vodka straight again. Chris sighed, taking up his wine and smiling into it.

'Ah, Victor. Always one for the dramatics,' he said and Victor felt himself pout. He really wished Chris would take his predicament seriously. It was easy for Chris to dismiss it, like it wasn't that big a deal, but Victor knew better. Chris had outperformed him so far in the assignments, even if the rankings read differently.

'I'm not being dramatic,' Victor said, reclining in his bar stool in a manner that could definitely be taken as being dramatic. He looked around the room, taking in the low light chandeliers and expensive leather seats. The hum of people talking and the quiet traffic outside. Victor always liked a good Westin. 'Without inspiration, my career as I knew it is practically over.'

'So you didn't score as well in performance as you usually do. You're still leading ahead the rest of us,' Chris said, tone at least a little more sympathetic now. He smirked, finishing his wine. 'At least it's giving me the chance to show you how a real artist looks.'

'Ha, ha,' Victor said miserably. He leaned on one hand, watching as Chris poured himself another glass of wine. 'I will admit, your _Intoxicated_ program certainly gave mine a run for it's money.'

'Hmm, shame about the quad loop though,' Chris said, referencing to when he had touched down on the ice at the Nebelhorn Trophy in September. Victor smiled in sympathy.

'Yes, but your performance was so strong that it hardly mattered. Your conviction was one thing I was definitely lacking,' he said kindly, shaking his head when the bartender asked if he needed another drink. Chris laughed, breathy and flirty- like always. Victor felt himself grinning at it. 'What?'

'I don't think your conviction was the problem, Victor,' Chris said, his accent making the _i_ seem soft in his mouth. Victor frowned, unable to stop himself.

'What do you mean?'

'Please tell me you've slept with someone, anyone, between now and when we hooked up at the World's last season,' Chris said, mouth all amusement at Victor's expense. Victor froze, not at all happy with the direction the conversation had taken.

'I- well, I've been busy,' Victor answered lamely, causing Chris to narrow his eyes.

'Six months is an awfully long time.'

'Not really.'

'It is when you decide you want to dance about sexual love of all things,' Chris countered, taking another sip of wine. Victor was half-tempted to take it off him and throw it in his stupid, smug Swiss face. 'The storyline of your short-program is great, Victor. But the inspiration for it isn't exactly fresh, is it? You haven't seduced anyone in over a year.'

'I seduced you at the Worlds,' Victor retorted, smiling at the memory. Chris scoffed.

'Come now, really? That was hardly the tale of temptation and chase you were trying to convey in your _On Love: Eros_. Even while it was happening I could tell your heart wasn't in it,' Chris said, looking at Victor fondly but his mouth was turned down just a little in disappointment. Victor didn't blush, but he could feel himself get a little warmer under the collar.

'That's not fair,' Victor said, knowing it to be true and hoping to alleviate some of his guilt. Chris smiled again, leaning over to squeeze Victor's hand for a moment.

'Not saying you weren't nice, _chéri_ ,' Chris teased and Victor side-eyed him appropriately. 'But when did you last seduce someone properly? Last time you even flirted! You're Victor Nikiforov, aren't you? Shouldn't you be sweeping some poor soul off their feet and to the Bahama's or something?'

'No one has grabbed my attention,' Victor answered truthfully, but he couldn't meet Chris' eye anymore, instead focusing on the crimson bottles behind the bar.

'Don't me tell me you, of all people, are looking for 'the right person'?' Chris asked, incredulous. Victor sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to think of the best way to answer. Chris whistled again and this time Victor was sure he could feel the littlest blush come across his cheeks. ' _Mon dieu_.'

'Alright, I know! I get it!' Victor said, waving a hand at Chris like he could wave away Chris' mocking. Victor flagged the bartender again, giving in. 'It's just- skating has begun to lose its appeal. I've never had anything but my work, but now I'm not even sure about that. That's why I'm so disappointed with my performance this season. If it's to be my last, then I want it to count. I want to surprise people, but not with how lacklustre it is.'

Chris had been listening patiently, even ignoring his wine so to give Victor his full attention. Victor was grateful, but now he felt a little self-conscious in admitting everything to him. Even though Chris was his friend, he was Victor's competitor first. It probably wasn't wise to admit to such things in front of him. But Victor couldn't bring himself to worry too much about it. Chris was all sympathy anyway, patting Victor's knee in comfort.

'I think I know what you need,' Chris said and his eyes were all mischief. Victor rolled his own, half knowing what to expect. Chris delivered faithfully. 'I'm taking you out. You're twenty-seven, not dead. I'll even cover you.'

'Oh?' Victor asked, the prospect not sounding as bad as it had before Chris had outright said it. Maybe it was the fact that Victor was dreading another night of insomnia due to his worries about the season. Maybe it was just that Victor was sick and tired of not having fun anymore.

'Yes!' Chris said, all enthusiasm now Victor hadn't turned him down. 'I know a great strip club-'

Victor laughed before he could stop himself; 'A strip club? That's bad enough at the best of times, but a strip club in Detroit?'

'It's a surprisingly classy establishment, I assure you,' Chris replied, but Victor wasn't convinced. His initial excitement was beginning to dull when the reality of the situation came back to him.

'There's a reason we're in the bar at half five, Chris,' Victor said, thanking the bartender when he dropped off another vodka, this time with a soda mixer. He mixed his drink, aware of Chris' disappointment. 'I doubt any strip club, no matter how classy, gets going before eleven, when we should be in bed.'

'Hmm,' was all Chris said, but Victor knew it meant that Chris had conceded his point. Then something crossed Chris' face and Victor knew that look. That look meant trouble. That was the same look that got Victor into Chris' hotel room in the first place back at the World's.

Friendly game of strip poker indeed.

'I have an idea.'

'I thought as much,' Victor said, motioning with his drink for Chris to continue. Chris smiled wickedly.

'It's not strictly speaking legal,' he said, eyebrows wiggling and Victor couldn't help himself. He took the bait.

'I don't party,' Victor said, though he knew Chris was aware of that but he wanted to be clear. Chris looked offended.

'I'd never suggest it. We're professionals, after all,' he said somewhat distractedly as he pulled out his phone. Chris scrolled through it, looking all the more excited as he did so. Victor was truly intrigued now. 'And speaking of professionals- how about I set you up on a very special date?'

Victor thought about the meaning of that for a moment. He paused while taking a sip from his drink; 'A hooker?'

'Escort,' Chris corrected smoothly, putting his phone down on the bar screen up. 'Don't be crude. You know better English than that. Better French even.'

'I don't need an escort, I'm not that bad,' Victor said as Chris glanced at his phone again. 'I like to think I can still get my own dates.'

'The last year says different.'

'... I wasn't trying.'

'Sure. Well, now you don't need to as I've done it for you. I'll even pay for you,' Chris said, grin lighting up just as his phone did. 'Excellent,' he said to whatever the phone read.

'How expensive is it? Should I allow you to do that?' Victor asked, genuinely unsure if this was a matter of a couple hundred dollars or a couple thousand.

Chris was texting distractedly; 'Don't worry about it. I get a special rate for loyalty.'

Victor blinked at that, surprised. 'How often do you use this service?'

'I use this person's service, and every time I'm in America,' Chris replied, cheerily sending another text before setting the phone back down. He gave Victor his most charming smile, the one that got him into most of ladies' skating once he'd made his way through half of the men's. Also got him a guest role in a few pair skates as well, if the rumours were anything to go by.

Victor thought about what Chris said while he finished his drink. Every time he was in America. Chris had been assigned to Skate America for almost four years now. Had he been meeting this person, this same person, all that time? As far as Victor was concerned, that was practically marriage. (Even if Chris was paying for it).

'What about-?' Victor started, wondering if he should bring up Chris' boyfriend.

'We've only been exclusive in the last four months. But no, I would never consider this for myself now,' Chris said, taking his wine in hand again. He signalled Victor with it, smile coy. 'That's why I have no problem in sharing with you. Once you meet, I'm sure you two will get on just perfectly. More than that maybe.'

'Oh? You're confident,' Victor replied, looking out across the bar again. Watching other couples sit close and talk in secrets. 'So, do I get to know anything about them other than the price tag before I decide?'

'Appalling.' Chris smiled again over the rim of his wine glass, eyes glittering like the glass chandeliers above them. 'I wouldn't be so rude as to bring up money, like _some_ people. I can tell you that no matters what happens you certainly won't regret it.'

Victor thought about that for a moment. This was outrageous, even for him. Hiring a person. For sex? It was insane, beyond bold and possibly into evil. Was it evil, to do such a thing? Victor wasn't sure, he'd never done anything like this. Never had to arrange a rendezvous with his credit card. But Chris seemed so comfortable about it, so happy to share the experience. Maybe Victor was being puritan. (Which was a first).

'Alright,' Victor conceded, to Chris' apparent glee. Victor fidgeted with his hands, feeling nervous and for the first time in a while, excited. 'Do I have to sleep with them?'

'Him. And no, you don't have to do anything you don't want to,' Chris said, firing off another text. He gave Victor another smirk. 'I sincerely doubt you'll find the restraint though.'

'Is that a comment on me as a person, or your friend's skill as a professional?'

'Why don't we find out?' Chris said, slipping his phone back into his dark jeans. He readjusted his shirt, (lavender, beautiful as always and bringing out his eyes). 'Everything's arranged. All you have to do is show up here, at this bar, at seven o'clock.'

'Can't I just wait?' Victor asked.

Chris gave him a very pointed look up and down. Victor shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

' _Chéri_ , you're the illustration of jet-lagged right now. Go upstairs, shower and put on a nice shirt,' Chris said, sliding out of his seat gracefully. He stood up and left a five dollar bill under his empty wine glass. 'First impressions count, you know.'

'I get it,' Victor said, standing up and leaving a tip as well. American tip culture was still something he didn't understand. Victor paused mid-movement. Would he have to tip this guy? Does one tip an escort? How did that work?

'Don't worry,' Chris said as they both walked out of the bar and into the lobby. 'There's nothing to be nervous about. I think this guy is just what you need, actually. Might even be fate.'

'A bold declaration,' Victor said, pressing the call button for the lift back to their rooms. He turned to face Chris, taking in his curly hair and slight stubble. Victor wondered idly if he should shave again. 'So, what's this guy's name?'

Chris laughed softly as they stepped into the lift, eyes turning green with mischief as he met Victor's gaze. His smile was crooked, all leaning intention.

'Eros.'

 

* * *

 

Yuuri finished taping the last box with a flourish, stepping back to admire his handiwork. The dorm-room looked so big now with everything packed up, his and Phichit's beds bare but for a sleeping bag each and the walls empty of their posters. It was strangely sad, seeing the room this way after all the years they'd spent together in it. But they were moving somewhere much better, ready to start their adult lives. That was something worth giving up the small room for, despite the nostalgia.

The door opened behind him and Phichit came in, pulling his hat off as he did, brown cheeks tinted red. It was quite cold for October, gloves and scarf weather already. It would probably snow in winter. Yuuri was glad they'd be out of this room by then.

'Yuuri!' Phichit cried, running across the room with his phone aloft. He shoved the screen into Yuuri's face. 'Have you seen Instagram? What am I saying? Of course you didn't. But Victor Nikiforov arrived in Detroit today!'

'Wow, already?!' Yuuri asked, unable to contain his excitement. He took Phichit's phone, looking at the selfie Nikiforov had posted. He was all glamour; gorgeous silver hair, matching sunglasses for the winter sun and stylish black peacoat. It made Yuuri's heart ache, just a little, knowing someone he admired so much was so close. 'He looks amazing.'

'When doesn't he?' Phichit replied, throwing himself down on one of the bare beds, only to yelp and sit back up. He pulled a stray roll of tape out from behind his back, glaring at Yuuri. 'It's amazing you have any left. You taped those boxes within an inch of their life.'

'Better safe than sorry,' Yuuri said, tapping _like_ before handing Phichit's phone back to him and putting down the tape gun he was holding.

'I'm not even going to be able to get at my stuff under all that wrapping,' Phichit said, dark eyes looking at his phone now. No doubt scrolling through the rest of Instagram. Yuuri smiled at him fondly.

'I already _liked_ that photo for you.'

'It's a fake _like_ though,' Phichit said, lying back down on the bed. He reached a hand out towards Yuuri. 'Why don't you get your own Instagram and then you can leave all the love letters you like in the comment section instead of hijacking mine?'

'You know I don't like social media,' Yuuri replied, taking Phichit's hand and letting himself be pulled down onto the bed next to him. He looked at Phichit's phone as Phichit switched to camera.

'Paranoid,' Phichit said, adjusting his phone for the perfect angle. He smiled, giving a peace sign in the lower corner of the frame. 'Smile, moving day selfie!'

Yuuri pushed himself into Phichit's shoulder, grinning up at the camera for the customary click noise. Phichit had always wondered why Yuuri avoided social media, but Yuuri had told him he was just a private person and didn't appreciate the culture. It wasn't strictly speaking a lie. Social media could be dangerous if you weren't careful. And Yuuri already had enough to be careful about. One less thing to worry about if Phichit couldn't attach his name to any photos.

As if on cue, Yuuri's phone beeped from his laptop bag on the other bed. His professional phone. Yuuri got up, padding over in his socks and fishing the phone out of the bag. The Blackberry was a little old now, he should probably upgrade soon. Just seemed like a needless expense when his private phone was already an iPhone6. Yuuri had other things to spend his money on.

Yuuri smiled before he could stop himself as he read the notification.

1新しいメッセージ -  _Chris G._

Yuuri had met Chris four years ago when he was in America for his first US assignment. Yuuri's first. He'd lost his virginity to him. Professionally speaking, that is. A champion figure skater, gorgeous, funny and exuding charm. He always paid in full upfront via card, too, without Yuuri ever having to ask like he had to with some clients. Chris was the perfect regular, though Yuuri only saw him at most twice a year. If anything, it made the time they saw each other all the more special.

Yuuri bit his lip as he opened the message, unsure what to expect. He'd seen the gossip websites, linking Chris to his choreographer. By all accounts it was getting serious. But Chris was a grown man, he could make his own decisions. It's not like Yuuri was twisting his arm.

 **17:34PM** _Evening, mon ange. No doubt you know I'm back in town. Don't suppose I could ask a very big favour of you?_

'Is that work?' Phichit asked from the bed, only sounding half interested. Yuuri nodded before realising that Phichit likely wasn't looking at him.

'Yeah, might need to go in later,' Yuuri said, typing out a reply to Chris as he did. Flirting was still so much easier in text than person, even after all this time.

 **17:35PM** For you, anything.

Yuuri waited patiently for the response while Phichit grumbled from the bed about eating alone for dinner again.

'I'm sorry, Phichit.'

'We're moving tomorrow. It's a special day, our last day in this shitty dorm-room! And you're abandoning me for some stupid meeting,' Phichit said, sitting up and pouting proper at Yuuri now. Yuuri smiled sympathetically as his phone went off again.

'I found the new apartment, doesn't that get me off the hook at least a little?' Yuuri said as he read Chris' message, then ignoring Phichit's reply.

 **17:35PM** _I have a friend I'd love you to meet. Having a rough time of it. Could do with some good company. My treat, of course. ;)_

Yuuri twirled the cursor ball of the Blackberry distractedly. Chris had never set him up before. Yuuri had been referred by other clients before, of course. But never by Chris. It was unusual, but Yuuri couldn't stop the little knot of excitement from forming in his stomach. Chris was pretty wonderful, and a really decent guy. _Very_ good sex. He'd never set Yuuri up with someone he didn't think was nice, at the very least. Chris was even willing to pay. Yuuri typed out his reply, not bothering to be coy about it.

 **17:36PM** The usual session? (4hr 3K)

'You're not even listening to me. Here I am, telling you how heartbroken I am that you would abandon me on a day like today, and you're ignoring me,' Phichit lamented, squeaking bed springs signalling to Yuuri that he'd gotten off the bed. Sure enough, Phichit was behind him instantly, resting his forehead on the back of Yuuri's neck dejectedly. 'You're the worst friend.'

'I'm a great friend. You're paying half rent, aren't you?' Yuuri said, hiding his phone subtly against his chest as he turned to face Phichit. Phichit groaned in acquiesce, flapping his arms dramatically, his puffy red parka scraping.

'Fine. Go,' Phichit sighed loudly, throwing his eyes to the ceiling. 'Maybe Ciao Ciao will get dinner with me.'

'Cause he doesn't see you enough? Between training and Skate America this weekend, he'll be sick of you,' Yuuri said as his phone beeped again.

'I wish you still competed,' Phichit said, and not for the first time since the season had started. Yuuri felt a blush creep up, warming his cheeks. He looked away, one hand coming up to fidget awkwardly with the arm of his glasses. 'Then you wouldn't have to run off to that god awful office at the most inconvenient times.'

'Ah- yes, but then how could we afford anything?' Yuuri stuttered, trying to steer the conversation away from skating. Yuuri could listen to a stranger talk about skating for all the hours he was paid to. But listening to his friend bring it up just reminded Yuuri of how much he missed it. It was painful, and too late for such things now. Yuuri was too old, at twenty-three. Better to focus elsewhere now.

'Skating is way better than stocks, or finance. Or whatever it is you do'

Yuuri shrugged Phichit off him, muttering about how he had to make a living somehow and checking his phone as he made his way to the en-suite to get ready for his evening.

 **17:37PM** _Perfect. 7pm Westin Cadillac. Usual place._

 **17:37PM** I normally only accept two hours notice.

 **17:38PM** _I know, but like I said, this is a favour. ;)_

Yuuri slipped into the bathroom, turning the shower on before sending his next message, excitement bleeding out into his face now as he smiled to himself in the mirror.

 **17:38PM** I spoil you. What's your friends name?

 **17:39PM** _Trust me, you'll know him when you see him._

 

* * *

 

Yuuri popped in his contacts in the Westin lobby bathroom, glasses safe at home. He ran another hand over his hair, pushed back like he used to wear on the ice, back when he skated. His clothes for the job were also influenced by his skating career, made him feel closer to it somehow. Strange as that probably sounded, it was comforting. The shirt Yuuri was wearing was actually from the women's section, but it fit beautifully once he had it tailored after buying a larger size. Black silk, with a chiffon panel across the shoulders showing just the barest shadow of his pale skin beneath. It hung loose and heavy, buttons swirling pearl; it made Yuuri feel beautiful and malleable. The best thing to be in this situation.

Running a quick swipe of lip balm over his lips, Yuuri looked at his own brown eyes staring back at him in the mirror. This was always the best part of the job. The sex itself was rarely good, even rarer to be great or memorable. But that first meeting. The adrenaline, the figuring out of which persona Yuuri should adopt, what the client wanted- it was equal to nothing. Yuuri wasn't even sure anymore if stepping out on the rink that first time before an audience, ready to tell a story through dancing on ice, could compare anymore. He told himself it wouldn't, that it couldn't.

And the money wasn't bad either, Yuuri would admit.

Taking a breath, Yuuri ran his hands down his black slacks to brush away any dust. They were impeccable, having only been dry cleaned the day before, but Yuuri found himself strangely nervous. Brimming with tense excitement. He turned and left the bathroom, walking purposely across the lobby towards the bar. His watch read 18:58PM.

Walking into the bar, Yuuri felt like he was stepping into something familiar. He was reminded, vividly, of being a teenager and sneaking off to Ice Palace, the rink he'd skate in back home in Japan. Yuuri stopped himself from frowning at the memory. Weird; to think of that now.

Yuuri looked around the bar, which was full of life now so late in the evening. Busy, even for a Thursday. Yuuri walked with purpose up to the bar itself, enclosed in an alcove in moody blue and purple lighting. And sitting at the bar was a tall, slender man with bright, silver hair that caught the light in lines of mauve and gold.

Yuuri froze.

No, no way. _It couldn't be_. Of all the people in the world, all the men in this hotel, even all the skaters Chris knew... Yuuri was standing in the centre of the bar, lights passing through the tall windows and ears full of the chatter of other patrons. But he couldn't focus on anything but the back of Victor Nikiforov.

Victor _freaking_ Nikiforov. Yuuri's celebrity crush. The screensaver of his personal phone. Yuuri just stopped himself from ruining his hair by running his hands through it as something Yuuri was afraid to call panic, (but it was definitely panic), flooded through him. It had to be a mistake. But there was no one else sitting at the bar. And Chris said Yuuri would recognise the client. Yuuri didn't realise he was holding his breath until it all fell out of him. _Okay, calm down_. Yuuri needed to get his shit together. This was fine.

Okay, it wasn't fine. It was kind of _amazing_. Never in all his wildest fantasies, (in which Victor Nikiforov did indeed play a role), could Yuuri have imagined this. Yuuri took a long, shaky breath, ignoring the way a nearby table was watching him have a mini breakdown. Yuuri could do this. It was just like any other appointment, with any other client.

(Except it wasn't. It was Victor Nikiforov).

Yuuri tempered down the raging of his mind, reminding himself to be sceptical. Life was rarely this kind to anyone, especially him. Yuuri would go up to the bar, and sit near but not next to Victor. If Victor was his client, he'd be sure to ask, and if not- well, then Yuuri would feel disappointed later. For now, Yuuri let himself indulge in the stupid, silly hope for just a bit longer.

Standing up a bit straighter, Yuuri put everything he knew about Victor Nikiforov into his walk. Echoed the skating he so desperately admired, the skating that had influenced Yuuri's own so heavily back when he had skated himself. Hips swaying, arms loose. Feminine, inviting. Yuuri wanted to be as far away from the high pressure men Victor was often associated with. If Yuuri was going to seduce Victor Nikiforov, then he was going to be as much of himself as he could be while he was doing it.

Yuuri leant against the bar, hyper aware of Victor's eyes on him as he did. He signaled the bartender with a brief nod, glancing at Victor from the corner of his eye. Victor was so handsome, more handsome than his own photos did justice to. His hair was styled so his fringe looked perfectly swept out of his face, white shirt crisp under Victor's suit jacket and begging to be rumpled in Yuuri's mind. But Yuuri was careful, trying to keep his treacherous heart from getting too excited.

'Eros?'

Victor's accent was so much more striking in person than on a screen. Yuuri couldn't contain the smile he got when he heard it, looking at Victor properly over his shoulder. Victor's eyes were electric, the blue of them reflecting purple and looking dark in the shadows of the bar. Yuuri felt his breath catch, just a little, but he covered well. Yuuri hadn't been this nervous since his first time.

'You must be Chris' friend,' he said, voice soft and just a little breathy. He was pleased to see Victor's lips part in some surprise. Most men were surprised with how softly Yuuri could speak. Yuuri held out a hand.

'Victor, please,' Victor said, taking Yuuri's hand and bringing it up to his lips, kissing Yuuri's knuckles. It was Yuuri's turn for surprise now. A blush bloomed, unbidden. Yuuri instantly felt embarrassed, only making it worse he was sure. For God's sake, he was supposed to be a professional. Victor smiled sinfully, letting Yuuri's fingers slip through his own as the bartender approached.

'Can I get you a drink?' Victor said,  _r_ sounding like it had edges with accent.

'Champagne,' Yuuri answered, a little breathless. Clients had done a lot of things with Yuuri over the years. He'd thought he'd done everything. But no one had kissed his hand like that.

Victor asked for two glasses of champagne as Yuuri settled himself into the bar stool next to him. Yuuri crossed his legs and ambitiously let his top leg reach into Victor's space, calf just grazing Victor's thigh. Yuuri had never thought he'd get so close to Victor Nikiforov, and yet here he was. It was amazing. Better than that.

'You come highly recommended,' Victor said as he passed Yuuri his glass. Yuuri smiled, thanking Chris profusely in his head.

'I've known Chris a long time. He's too kind, really,' Yuuri replied, feeling brave behind his glass of champagne. He took a small sip, careful to pace himself. It didn't do well to drink too much on a job.

'I have faith he meant what he said about you,' Victor said, eyes like flint in the dark. Setting Yuuri's heart alight. Yuuri hoped he wasn't still blushing. Instead, Yuuri put the glass down carefully, leaning across the small space between himself and Victor. He put his hand on Victor's knee, loving the warmth he felt there. Victor sat up a little straighter, looking down at Yuuri from beneath his silver fringe.

'Chris said you were a bit down lately,' Yuuri said lowly, causing Victor to lean a little forward, making the space between them even smaller. Yuuri looked up at Victor from beneath his lashes, a move that generally got the desired affect. 'Any idea on how I could help cheer you up?'

Victor visibly swallowed, cheeks lighting up and for the first time in a long time, Yuuri genuinely wanted it. Yuuri wanted Victor to take him upstairs to his room, he wanted to let himself be taken where ever Victor wished and he wanted Victor to want him right back. He squeezed Victor's knee, letting his hand slip up just a little further, slow and heavy.

'Tell me, Eros,' Victor said, placing a hand over Yuuri's on his leg. He moved forward suddenly, all boldness to Yuuri's coy. Victor's other hand slid across the bar, taking Yuuri's hand there and lacing their fingers together. He was up in Yuuri's space, forcing Yuuri to sit up as Victor practically leant over him. Yuuri looked at his lips the entire time, wanting what he'd wanted to know since he was twelve.

_What do Victor Nikiforov's lips taste like?_

'Can you dance?' Victor asked, breath fanning over Yuuri's face as Victor moved closer, so close that all Yuuri would have to do is push forward just the small, few centimetres.

Yuuri was losing control of the situation. He was the one who had seduce Victor, not the other way around. Yuuri shifted slightly, attempting a smirk and putting his own wants away. It was just like the ice; all that adrenaline, all that excitement. The need to prove himself. Yuuri had always dreamed of meeting Victor one day as a rival. He'd blown it as a skater back at the Grand Prix, but now he had a second chance in a whole new playing field. Not like Victor remembered anyway. Yuuri was someone else now.

It was like pulling the zip up on a costume. Elegant and easy. Yuuri slipped into Eros like he had a thousand times before, pushing the excitement he felt at being in Victor's presence down. He'd indulged enough. Time to show Victor just what Katsuki Yuuri was capable of.

Yuuri slid effortlessly off the stool, letting Victor trail his hands up his thigh and across his hip as Yuuri twisted out of Victor's grip, releasing his hand. He smirked over his shoulder at Victor's look of surprise.

'I know just the place if you're looking for a dance,' he said, turning on his heel back to Victor as he got out of his seat.

Yuuri reached up to Victor's collar, smoothing it out though it was already perfect. He ghosted his fingertips across the skin of Victor's neck, trailing his hands down Victor's chest. He pressed just a little harder than he needed to, hands slipping under Victor's suit jacket, feeling the tone of his abs underneath fabric. Yuuri stood up on his tip-toes to whisper in Victor's ear. 'It's a bit dangerous though. Think you can handle it?'

Victor nodded mutely, eyes dark like dried ink on the page. Yuuri felt his stomach twist at the sight as he pulled away, careful to let his hands linger on Victor's slim waist as long as he could manage to. He smiled, right corner up a little further. Slanted, inviting. Bordering on smug.

'Come with me.'

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cher - dear  
> mon ange - my angel  
> mon dieu - my god  
> Lyrics 'In the Name of Love', by Martin Garrix and Bebe Rexha.


	2. On Love: Eros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The response was so overwhelming positive for this story, that here's the second chapter early. Thank you all so much for the amazing comments and kudos. <3

Eros was nothing that Victor had expected. He was much better.

When Victor first saw the man come up to the bar, he tried to stop himself from hoping too hard. The man was objectively gorgeous, of course. Victor expected nothing less of someone Chris was willing to spend his winnings on. Chris always went a little extra for aesthetics. He was younger than Victor expected. He barely looked over twenty-one. 

But there was something in the way he moved, the way he was dressed, that oozed sensuality like it was something liquid and volatile. Like it was gasoline, just waiting for a spark. Victor noticed it immediately, abandoning his half-finished whiskey to admire him. When the man confirmed himself to be Eros, Victor almost thanked God out loud.

Eros was all soft curves and elegant creases. Round face, round eyes. Brown, but not any brown Victor had ever seen on someone before. It was the colour of a chestnuts skin in the fall. Autumn leaves in the Summer Garden. Victor couldn't look away from them as Eros spoke, voice delicate and inviting. He had been folded into his seat like an envelope, all secret promise. Victor loved the way he looked, loved the way his black silk shirt shined in the low light and loved the mental image of it pooling dark on Victor's hotel room floor.

Victor wanted him from the moment he saw him. God, Chris was such a _mu'dak_ _._ Knew exactly what Victor liked. 

But as tempting as all of it was, it wasn't what was dragging Victor in. It was what Victor was sure lay beneath the smirk and dark lashes. There was something about the pink in Eros' cheeks when he saw Victor first, the way he was so easy to bend when Victor pushed. Something that suggested softness, warmth. Something Victor couldn't even think to name as Eros took a graceful sip of his champagne, all allurement yet giving away nothing. It was hidden now; slipping beneath Eros' confidence and experience, no doubt.

But for one moment, Victor had caught the man off-guard for whatever reason, revealing something secret. Whatever it was, it was far removed from what Victor expected of an escort. And Victor wanted to see it again.

While they had been waiting for their drinks, Victor had taken the time to watch Eros, watch the way he moved, looking for another hint of the man beneath the flirt. Victor wanted to ruin Eros' styled hair, wanted to see what else was hidden beneath the teasing chiffon of his shoulders. Victor felt the desire, bursting hot and slowly throbbing low in his gut. Victor wanted to know what Eros would say if he wasn't given the chance to think, if he'd say anything at all or if Victor could pull noises from him that Eros didn't have to fake. Victor hadn't felt desire like that in some time. Hadn't wanted anything, anyone, so badly so soon.

So really, what was happening now was inevitable, as Eros led Victor past the line of people waiting to get into what looked like to be a side entrance to a luxury apartment complex down off Shelby Street. Victor was sure he'd follow the stranger back to Russia, if he asked.

Eros went straight up to the bouncer at the door, who smiled down at the slight man. They were clearly acquainted. Victor came up behind Eros, feeling bold and maybe the smallest bit possessive. Maybe it was the money- the knowledge that for this one, bizarre evening, Victor for all intents and purposes owned the man before him. But something in Victor was sated when he looped his arm around Eros' waist, pulling him back to Victor's side in one effortless movement. Eros paused mid-sentence, looking at Victor with a confident smile but questioning eyes. Victor loved the quiet surprise.

'Joe, this is Victor,' Eros said to the bouncer, but his eyes never left Victor's. Eros leaned into Victor's side with more purpose, hand coming up to skim across Victor's stomach, toying with buttons. Eros turned back to the bouncer and Victor felt disappointment before he could stop himself. 'He's visiting. I think he deserves some quality Midwestern hospitality.'

Joe, (as it turned out), gave Victor a very stern look, eyeing him up like he was taking in how best to knock Victor down. Victor stood up taller, taking advantage of his height. Though he was sure Joe was large enough that if he hit him, Victor would go down.

'You're not even American, kid,' Joe said to Eros, and Victor raised his eyebrows in surprise. Eros' English was perfect, accent sounding American to Victor's ear. But maybe not? Joe shook his head, smile betraying him as he ran a hand over his shaved head. 'You owe me more in admission than I think I'm actually earning.'

'But don't I always make it up to you?' Eros said, pulling away from Victor briefly to lay a hand against Joe's chest. Eros looked so small in front of the imposing figure, shoulders slight and waist tucked in artfully. Normally, Victor would probably wonder what kind of exercise regime Eros did to keep a figure like that. Now however, all Victor could think was how Eros' hand needed to be anywhere but on someone else.

Before Victor could do anything though, Eros reached behind him and linked their hands together. He was pulling Victor forward through the door, blowing a kiss back at Joe as they entered the building. Eros led Victor down a deep, red coloured hallway to an expensive looking black door. Behind it, Victor could hear music and the hum of people talking. A party? This early?

Eros turned to face Victor, his face the picture of seduction as he took the two steps between them, standing just inches from Victor's chin. In the low light of the hall, his eyes looked almost black, lips shining. Victor could feel his breath. His stomach twisted tightly, metallic pleasure heading all the way down.

'Ready?' Eros asked and he sounded breathless. Victor smiled, hoping the excitement he could see in Eros was genuine.

'Absolutely,' Victor replied, leaning forward and eyes almost closed before he caught Eros turning away from him at the last moment, denying him. Victor groaned in frustration before he could stop himself.

Eros opened the door with one hand, leading Victor in by the other. 'Patience,' he said, before they were both engulfed in the heat and music of the party.

Victor had never been to a party like this one.

It looked like it was someone's apartment, but it had been cleared of most furniture, leaving only round beds and stray love seats along the walls, a makeshift dance floor in the centre. The lighting was red and low, almost complete dark. The open kitchen was a fully stocked bar, island converted for the purpose and all. The ceiling was draped in curtains and the music had a bass so low that it rocked deep in Victor's chest. He followed Eros through the crowd, which was a unique selection of well-dressed people and scantily clad dancers. Couples, and other varitations as far as _quintents,_ were sharing the many soft surfaces. Victor's mouth fell open in shock when he saw the level of exhibitionism they showed to be okay with.

Eros turned around once they made it to the dance floor, his fingers finding Victor's belt loops and hooking through them. He pulled Victor forward, their hips meeting and Victor moaned at the contact, his attention coming back solely to the beautiful man in front of him.

'Distracted?' Eros asked and Victor had to strain to hear him over the music and the collective noises of the people around them. Victor shook his head, afraid of what he might say as Eros' hands slid around his middle, splaying flat against his back.

Eros began to move to the music, hips grinding against Victor's and his chest bumping into his. Victor's hands ran over Eros' shoulders, down his arms, loving the give of the silk all the way down. The way it rippled beneath his touch, the way it was so soft it betrayed all the muscles Eros was hiding. Victor gripped Eros' wrists tightly, holding Eros' arms in place around his waist. Eros gasped at the force of it, which Victor was surprised at himself. In response, Eros slid his hands down, stopping just above Victor's ass.

'Don't let go,' was all Victor could think of to say as Eros stared up at him, his brown eyes burning red in the light. They looked so deep that Victor half-feared he'd fall into them. Drown, maybe. Eros nodded slowly, moving up to brush his bare skin against Victor's own cleanly shaven cheek.

'I wasn't planning to,' Eros said into Victor's ear and Victor moved a hand up to Eros' neck, holding him in place. The movement was sudden and Eros' grip tightened reflexively on Victor and Victor loved how it brought Eros more forward, loved the feeling of his hard chest and round thighs pressed up against him.

The next while passed in a blur, Eros moving around Victor like he'd been dancing with him all his life. Eros knew which way Victor would move, knew when to bend, when to catch him. It was like a religious experience, only infinitely better as Victor didn't intend on being penitent for any of it. They would meet, hips coming together and arms tangling and it was just so, so good. Better than anything Victor had ever had.

Eros turned away from him in tune to the beat, some deeply remixed Latin step with Spanish lyrics, bass line pounding to the erratic violin. His hand slid down Victor's arm as he slipped away, fire all the way down. Eros spun in place, back arching in a way that just begged to be recreated later. He raised his hands above his head, arms bending and hands flared. Victor stepped up in Eros' open position, running a hand hard down Eros' side, feeling the heat of his body beneath the silk of his shirt.

Victor bent an arm around Eros' back, pulling Eros forward into Victor's lunge. They fit together beautifully. Eros had to be trained, no one could dance like this on the spot. Victor wanted to know everything Eros could do. As the music sped along, Eros twisted in Victor's grip, his ass coming down right where Victor dreamed it would be. Victor whimpered at the contact, but it was lost in the noise of the party. Eros grinded backwards and one of Victor's hands came down onto Eros' hip, the other coming to hold Eros beneath his neck. Victor could feel Eros' pulse, pounding like the music.

'You're amazing,' Victor said into Eros' ear, lips brushing against the soft skin there. Eros leaned back, ass grinding up against Victor's crotch. Victor groaned, the image of all the evening promised flaring before him. Victor wanted to dance with Eros again, wondered what Eros would look like on a rink . Victor bet he'd look amazing. Victor couldn't stop himself picturing it; Eros' body, fluid and weightless across the ice.

'Imagine what you could do with the right coach,' Victor breathed out across Eros' neck as he moved to the music, almost lost to his own imagination. Eros twisted in Victor's grip, pulling Victor along in a half-attempted tango step. Eros' hands came down to hold Victor's, assuming the following position.

'Tonight,' Eros said. 'Be my coach, Victor.'

He was obviously teasing but his eyes were alight like a fire that threatened to burn the whole city down.

 _'Konechno,'_ Victor replied instantly, leading Eros towards the centre of the floor.

Then Eros was gone, spinning with the music out of Victor's grip. Victor followed him, adoring the way Eros' body moved to the beat. There could be no music at all, and Victor would be able to hear every note in the way Eros turned, the shape of his arms above his head. As Eros moved closer, Victor reached out and gathered Eros into a lift, delighting at the way Eros shifted his weight to gain height, one leg around Victor's waist. Betraying the presence of the training Eros no doubt had.

Grinning to himself, Victor worried he might be falling in love. Just a little.

Eros slid down Victor's body, almost seated in Victor's lap and held there by Victor's grip. He was panting, a sheen of sweat catching the red light and his pushed back hair coming a little loose. He looked the very definition of an invitation. Victor slipped a hand up Eros' chest, loving the way Eros' eyes slid closed as he did. His hand held Eros' jawline, fingers splaying down across the skin of his neck.

Victor couldn't wait anymore, he didn't have the resolve. Victor could feel himself getting harder just from the very thought of kissing Eros, already half-way there from the movement of Eros against him throughout their dance. Victor let go of Eros' neck, but Eros didn't move, body only slightly swaying to the music. He had to feel it, too. _He had to._ Victor ran his thumb across Eros' bottom lip, watched as Eros' gaze dropped to look at Victor's own lips. It was all the consent Victor needed.

Their lips met in a burst of heat and wet, Eros opening to meet Victor immediately. Victor moaned, deep in his throat as Eros' tongue slipped into his mouth. Victor sucked on it, desperate for the _pull,_ the mere echoing action of having Eros fuck into his mouth setting his whole mind on fire. Victor's other hand came up to hold Eros' face, tips of fingers running into dark hair as Eros slipped down Victor's body.

Eros' hands grabbed fistfuls of Victor's shirt, pulling Victor forward against him. His lips moved feverently against Victor's, tongue slipping in and out in a way that was just _filthy._ Victor couldn't stop the needy noises that crawled up his throat as Eros used Victor's shirt as leverage to get up on his tip-toes. Victor moved a hand down around Eros' waist, all the way down to grab Eros' ass. Loved the way Eros' mouth opened even wider in a whimper at the touch, allowing Victor to lick at his teeth and take Eros' bottom lip between his own. Victor licked at it to soothe the sting before taking Eros' mouth once again.

Victor wasn't sure how long they had spent on the dance floor like that, kiss moving from heated to straight up sinful. Eros' hands had moved up, holding Victor just under the neck like he was half-afraid Victor would leave. Victor could feel Eros' stiff cock between his legs and the desire that had been mounting all night had devolved into heavy throbbing now.

Victor ushered up all the self-control he had, which wasn't much, but he somehow managed to get his tongue out of Eros' eager mouth and that was something. Slowly, Eros returned Victor's retreat, slowing his kisses down to continuous presses that, honestly, weren't doing anything to kill the heat between Victor's legs. Victor tore his mouth away, burying his face in Eros' shoulder to stop himself.

'You've no idea how long I wanted to do that,' Victor said, practically tasting Eros' shoulder beneath the thin chiffon. Victor bit his own lip to stop himself from biting at Eros' skin.

'Probably not as long as I have,' Eros answered quietly, so quietly that Victor almost didn't hear him.

Victor looked up, meeting Eros' eyes. 'What was that?'

Eros kissed him again, hands tightening around the back of Victor's neck and Victor melted into it. He moaned as Eros grazed Victor's top lip with his teeth as pulled away.

'Let's get out of here.'

Victor couldn't think of anything better than the fact that the hotel was only five minutes away.

 

* * *

 

They barely made it to the hotel room.

The journey back to the hotel had been a brisk walk in the cool October night. Hands fumbling together, almost holding but not quite. Quick, pitstop kisses that were much too long and deep. The doorman had given them a disapproving look until Eros touched his shoulder on the way in so sweetly that Victor had felt that it was absolutely necessary to pull Eros away with so much force that they practically fell through the revolving door.

In the lift, they hadn't fared much better.

After fumbling to get his keycard in to select the floor, Victor had gathered Eros up into his arms, sitting him up on the handrail. Eros had wrapped his legs around Victor's waist, sinfully soft and bruising hard, hands tangled in Victor's hair. Victor kissed Eros so hard that the back of his head hit the paneled wall, but Eros had done nothing but moan in approval, tugging Victor forward with him.

Victor had just about been holding it together until he let his hand travel downwards, palm pressing up against Eros' straining trousers.

' _Ah, Victor~'_ Eros said, voice squeaking just slightly and Victor heard the first suggestion of an foreign accent as the backend of his name ran upwards. Victor wanted to hear Eros say his name like again, _and again._

By the time they made it to Victor's hotel room, Victor almost gave up entirely. He grabbed Eros' delicate wrists in one hand, pinning them above his head and pressing Eros up against the door. Victor kissed him so deep he was running out breath, Eros' tongue lazily fucking in and out between Victor's lips. They were a dreadful thing.

'You can't fuck me in the hall,' Eros said, voice raspy as Victor let his lips go so to suck at Eros' neck. It could've been scold, but the way Eros mewled when Victor bit down suggested that he wasn't too committed.

'I was under the impression I could do as I please,' Victor said, surprising himself with the brashness of it.

The reality of the situation came crashing back to Victor. He released Eros, instead wrapping his hands around the slim waist of the man before him. Victor leant his body flush against Eros, loving the way Eros' head tilted back in a pleased sigh. Victor rubbed small circles on Eros' stomach through his silk shirt.

'You do want this, right?'

Eros looked at Victor with wide eyes, hair completely in disarray now. Victor couldn't help but think it suited him, stray bangs and dark flyaways. Victor knew he'd look gorgeous in the morning. Eros rolled his hips forward, hard cock just meeting Victor's equally aching one through the fabric and Victor's knees went a little weak at the feeling.

'Oh, oh- god _,_ _Eros_ ,' Victor groaned, name rolling and tripping over it's _r_ and his head falling to Eros' shoulder.

'Was I giving the impression I wasn't exactly where I wanted to be?' Eros asked, hands coming up along Victor's shoulders in a soothing manner.

' _Net._ No, I mean. It's just- I've never...' Victor wasn't sure how to say it, quite afraid now he had spoiled the mood by bringing up, however indirectly, that Eros was being paid to be there with him.

Eros gently pulled Victor's head up, smiling at him softly before leaning forward and kissing Victor with a tenderness that sent shivers all the way down his spine. Eros rubbed small, soft circles with his thumb on Victor's cheek. Despite everything, it felt like the most intimate moment they had shared so far.

'Please believe me when I say that there is nowhere I'd rather be. And absolutely no one I'd rather be with,' Eros said as he pulled away from the kiss slowly. He leaned up a little, kissing Victor's cheek chastely before whispering in his ear; 'Take me inside.'

Once Victor had Eros inside, any doubts he may have had were abandoned entirely. Eros walked into the centre of the room, just at the foot of the bed as Victor flicked a switch for the bedside lamp. He turned to face Victor, keeping eye contact as he slowly lifted a wrist, carefully undoing the watch he had placed there. Victor let his own suit jacket fall to the floor, frantically undoing the buttons of his shirt as Eros walked over to place his watch on the bedside table.

When Victor had his shirt off, Eros froze where he was by the bed, hands paused in untucking his shirt. His mouth was open, lips pink and swollen from the assault Victor had made on them. Victor chuckled, kicking his shoes off as he made his way over. Victor was by no means modest- he knew how he looked. He'd hazard a fair guess that he was a far stretch from Eros' regular clientele.

(Chris excluded, of course).

 _'_ Vic-tor,' Eros breathed as Victor finally got to touch him again, running his hands over Eros' neck. Eros traced a hand down Victor's chest, almost like he was afraid to do so. Like he wasn't allowed. Victor saw the man he had seen briefly at their first drink again and it lit the arousal in him all over.

Eros barely had a chance to catch his breath before Victor pushed him backwards onto the bed. His brown eyes were wide with surprise, his lip just slipping beneath his teeth to call Victor's name, but Victor beat him to it. Victor kissed Eros passionately, fingers frantic to undo the buttons of the damn silk shirt that had been teasing him all night. Victor threw it behind him, kissing his way down Eros' bare chest, wondering dazedly if Eros was just so young that his chest was this way or if he waxed. Victor huffed a laugh against Eros' pale stomach, mostly at himself.

Who would think about that right now? But Victor couldn't help it. He wanted to know _everything_.

Once Victor made it to the hem of Eros' trousers, a hand flew into Victor's hair and fingers twisted so much it almost hurt. Eros' voice was low, practically a growl; 'God, _please_.'

Like he had to ask.

Victor undid the zipper quickly, already knowing this was all likely to be far too fast anyway just from the way Eros was pleading beneath him, murmers of _please_ and _quickly_. He pulled Eros' trousers off, shoes and socks coming with them. Victor lost his breath at the sight; Eros spread open across his bed, all flushed skin and a hard cock curving up to his stomach. Victor licked his lips at the sight of it, moving to pull his own trousers off.

Eros' pretty blush went down his neck and across his chest, spilling pink. His dark eyes watched Victor from the bed and when Victor climbed on top of him, they slid closed and his mouth opened in a silent _oh._ Victor groaned as his cock rubbed up against Eros', falling into the space between it and Eros' thigh. Victor bucked into the heat before he could stop himself and Eros' back arched up to meet him, like he couldn't bear to be any further away.

Victor ran his hands down Eros' sides, feeling the ridges of his ribs beneath the skin. He should eat more, Victor thought randomly. Victor would bring him somewhere, buy Eros the whole restaurant if he wanted it.

Eros whined, hands back in Victor's hair as he kissed him, tongue heavy and wet. Victor groaned into it, gripping at Eros and rutting forward, eliciting another keening noise from deep down in Eros' throat. It was the single hottest thing Victor had ever heard.

'Condom,' Eros breathed as he pulled away, hands running down Victor's back, pressing in deep as far down as he could reach. Victor tried to contain his groan of frustration at the reminder.

'Where?' Victor said as he kissed down Eros' neck, still grinding forward and loving the wet feeling of Eros' cock against his own stomach.

'P-pants. Pocket. Lube, too. _God,_ ' Eros gritted out between his teeth as Victor kissed his way back down Eros' flaming chest. As Victor pulled away, he couldn't look away from the glistening tip of Eros' erection, foreskin pulled back and head almost purple in the dark of the hotel room. Victor couldn't resist, taking a dangerous chance by leaning forward and licking the small bead of precum at the tip.

Eros yelped, hands twisting into the sheets. _'Onegai, Victor~'_

Victor hadn't the faintest idea what that meant, couldn't even think to identify what language it was, but he wanted to hear it again.

It pained Victor to leave Eros on the bed like that, but the pressure was mounting, Victor's own dick aching in a way that could almost be described as _painful_ at this point. He scrambled to find the condoms and the small pouch of lube Eros had been carrying before stopping, running a questioning hand over Eros' leg where it was still bent over the edge of the bed.

'How-?'

Eros was sitting up instantly, interrupting Victor with a bruising kiss. He pulled back just enough to whisper the words Victor had been dying to hear; _'Fuck me.'_

Victor gripped the condoms and lube tightly, almost bursting them. Then he was tearing a condom open with his teeth and throwing the other and lube up onto the bed. Eros watched him the entire time, sliding up the bed and then lying down onto his back again. He was panting now and hands lost in the sheets. Every inch of him was begging for it, as far as Victor was concerned. And Victor was hardly going to deny him anything.

Victor slid the condom on before climbing back on top of Eros, the heat blistering between them. Victor pushed his hand across Eros' stomach, stroking his cock once, twice- before taking the lube into his hands. Victor used half to slick his fingers up before slipping his hand down between Eros' legs while Eros moaned sinfully through the whole thing, desperately reaching out for his own condom.

When the first finger slipped in with no resistance at all, Victor's mouth opened in shock in at realisation.

'Did you-?'

'I may have had- ah, expectations,' Eros said as he stroked his own cock, hand slipping with the lubrication of the condom. 'Please, _don't stop.'_

Victor could have a gun to his head and he wouldn't stop.

Two fingers slipped in with the same give and Eros moaned deeply at the intrusion, the sound going straight to Victor's cock, where it twitched in response. Eros writhed above him, words slipping out but Victor could barely register them as he added a third finger, muscle tightening at it. Victor massaged gently, probing a little deeper as Eros pushed down greedily. Eros cried out as Victor found what he was looking for, both hands coming up to grip Victor's shoulders painfully.

'Now,' Eros demanded and Victor agreed.

But before Victor could do anything, Eros had them flipped over with surprising strength. Victor actually gasped as his back hit the bed, no time to register what had happened before Eros was sitting on Victor's lap and all thought left his mind entirely except for the weight of it.

Eros took Victor's cock in hand and Victor threw his head back, eyes closed, as Eros began to sink down, inch by burning inch. Victor's hands flew to Eros' hips, gripping tightly as his cock slid in smoothly.

'You're so good, so good for me, _pryanichek_ _,'_ Victor whimpered as Eros sat himself down, tight and so hot despite all the ministrations. Victor opened his eyes to look at him, groaning once he did.  
  
Eros had his head thrown back, mouth open in a silent whine. He seemed frozen there, for just a moment, but then his hips started to roll and Victor couldn't look anymore, lost to the sheer pleasure of it. Eros lifted off his knees slightly only to come back down, faster and faster each time and if Victor had thought it would be short before, it was nothing compared to now when he could already feel the telltale twist in his gut as Eros grinded down, all wet heat and quivering contractions.

Victor began to snap his hips up, desperate to reach release but simultaneously wishing for it to never end. Eros was moving in perfect time, leaning back a bit now and his hands pressed down on Victor's chest for leverage. Victor watched him through lidded eyes, panting heavily and groaning when Eros bent back just a little far and Victor could feel the extra stretch himself. God, he looked beautiful.

'Victor, _Victor_ ,' Eros moaned, a hand reaching up to stroke himself.

Victor couldn't look away, thrusts upwards turning frantic. Eros bounced on top of him, meeting each drive of Victor's hips with a lewd slap . Eros canted his hips forward, twisting just a little and Victor cried out, louder than he ever had as his vision went white. Victor could just about register Eros' own orgasm, digging his trim nails into Eros' thighs as the man shook above him through the afterwave. Then, Eros collapsed on Victor's chest, sweaty and trembling.

Victor panted for a while, trying to catch his breath but finding himself unable to. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the top of Eros' head from where it lay on his chest. Victor wrapped his arms around Eros' small body, breath turning shaky at the embrace. Victor wondered how long he could keep him there before hypersensitivity forced them apart.

'All good, _miliy?_ ' Victor managed to get out eventually, catching himself too late. He was glad Eros couldn't understand the pet name that slipped out. Victor hadn't meant to do that. Eros didn't seem to notice, making a happy noise. Or at least, what Victor hoped was a happy noise.

'You're everything I hoped for,' Eros said, leaning up and kissing Victor briefly on the lips before he extricated himself, both of them groaning at the movement.

It wasn't until Eros had left for the bathroom that Victor realised what he had said. Victor felt himself grinning. He ran a hand through his sweat-ruined fringe, laughing quietly to himself.

The feeling was more than mutual.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri's watch started beeping quietly from the bedside table. His stomach dropped in disappointment. The whole evening had flown, every minute with Victor flying past like a second from a dream. Yuuri reached over the bed and took the watch. With a heavy heart, Yuuri slipped out of Victor's drowsy grip. They had been lying in the bed, tangled together and comfortably silent in the afterglow.

Yuuri sat up, stretching his arms up over his head as Victor roused behind him. When Yuuri looked at him over his shoulder, Victor was on his side, head resting in one hand. He was watching Yuuri with such open fondness that Yuuri's chest hurt with the want for it. He tried to remind himself. Most clients were like this the first time, unable to separate what had happened with the reality of what led to it. The fondness rarely stayed that unguarded.

And he knew for a fact now that he was Victor's first escort. Victor didn't know the game yet.

(Hopefully he'd never learn it _too_ well).

'Leaving so soon, _miliy?_ ' Victor asked, tone obviously flirting as Yuuri gathered his clothes up from the hotel room floor.

Yuuri didn't know the pet name remotely, assuming it to be Russian. Anytime Victor spoke Russian it made Yuuri's heart swell like it might burst. A constant reminder throughout the evening that _yes_ , Yuuri was fucking Victor Nikiforov. Yuuri didn't know it was possible to make an _m_ sound rough like that. Yuuri smiled at Victor as he fastened the top button of his slacks.

'The night's still young,' Yuuri replied coyly, slipping his shirt back on. He watched Victor as he started the buttons, top down. He watched as Victor rolled across the bed. Half-covered by the blanket, Victor reached out to hold Yuuri's hips. He leaned up, kissing Yuuri lightly across the stomach between the open shirt.

'Mmm, exactly why you should stay a bit longer,' Victor said, voice deep like a well. Yuuri was glad the room was dark, so Victor wouldn't see the blush he got from listening to Victor Nikiforov say something so inviting. If his sixteen year old self could see him now.

Yuuri forlornly thought of the watch on his wrist. As wonderful as the evening had been, and it was wonderful, Yuuri had to be strict. Hopefully Victor had just as good a time. Yuuri abandoned the buttons, running his hand through Victor's hair, adoring the hum of approval he got for it. Perhaps a little too much.

'I had a really great time,' Yuuri said, bending down to his knees so he'd be on Victor's level. Yuuri took advantage, stealing one more kiss.

He kissed Victor slowly and deep, slipping his tongue in Victor's mouth and keeping the movement sensual and heady. But Yuuri's heart was still pounding in his chest from it, electrical current all the way down to Yuuri's stomach where it flipped pleasantly. Images of the evening flashed before him, burning and erotic. Yuuri was sure he could keep going all night if Victor wanted him to.

'That sounds suspiciously like a goodbye,' Victor said huskily as Yuuri released him, standing up and finishing buttoning the shirt. Yuuri bent down to kiss Victor on top of his head; a stupid thing to do really but Yuuri found he just couldn't help himself.

'Sorry to disappoint you,' Yuuri said and he meant it.

Yuuri took one more liberty, one more thing before he had to leave Victor Nikiforov and their night together. Yuuri ran his hand along Victor's cheek, across his jaw. He touched Victor's lips with his thumb, admiration for the man so huge that it took Yuuri's breath away for just a second.

'See you, Victor,' Yuuri said, hoping it was true, as he turned and left the hotel room.

The door snapped shut finally behind him.

Yuuri smiled all the way down the hall and once he was alone in the lift, Yuuri allowed himself to bathe in excitement. Yuuri leant against the bar, joy explosive inside him and it bubbled up and over, Yuuri grinning to himself and covering his own mouth to stop from laughing like a crazy person.

Victor Nikiforov. _The_ Victor Nikiforov. Yuuri had just had sex with Victor fucking Nikiforov. And it was _fantastic._ Got paid three thousand dollars for the privilege as well.

Yuuri jumped a little in the lift, feeling the small space bounce slightly at the movement. He flinched a little, pain twinging from his ass up his lower back. He'd been a bit careless, impatience getting the better of him. But Yuuri found that he loved it. Loved the physical reminder. Yuuri made a small high pitched noise, trying to contain the glee and failing.

'I love my job,' Yuuri said to himself, watching the numbers on the lift go down and down.

Money was a good incentive. But some perks were _definitely_ better than others.

 

* * *

 

Victor landed his quad with a flourish, free leg coming down into a seamless counter as Victor's body spun across the ice. He was sweating from the effort of going through _On Love: Eros_ again, for the third time. But Victor couldn't help it. Inspiration was alive in him and Victor wanted to recreate everything that had given it to him. It all seemed so clear now that Victor had been telling the wrong end of the story.

'I'd like to say I get bored of being right, but I'd be lying,' called a voice across the rink. Victor spun in place, catching Chris stepping out onto the ice.

It was so early, Victor thought no one would be here yet. Practice didn't officially start until nine. But here Chris was, kitted out in his practice gear and stretching his arms out as he skated up to meet Victor with the smuggest look Victor had ever seen him sport. And that was saying something.

'You don't have to look quite so pleased with yourself,' Victor said, kicking his toe pick into the ice to shake off build up. Chris skidded to a halt in front of him, still looking unbearably pleased with himself. Victor couldn't find it in him to be mad though. Luckily for Chris, the gratitude Victor felt for the night before was still great.

' _Mon chéri,_ you're practically glowing,' Chris remarked, crossing his arms and grinning. Victor tossed his fringe, resolutely not self-conscious at all. Chris' smile turned a little, just hitching up a bit to the right and he raised one eyebrow. 'I assume everything went as well as I expected.'

'Depends,' Victor smirked, skate _clipping_ as he tapped it back down to the ice. 'What were you expecting?'

Chris laughed, throwing his head back a little. When he caught Victor's gaze again, he was all burning enthusiasm. He leaned a little forward, hands coming down to his hips.

'Tell me everything,' he said, hazel eyes shining. 'What did you think of Eros?'

Victor bit his lip as memories of the night before drifted through his mind's eyes. Eros' long arms, his trim waist and curved thighs. His warm, molten brown eyes. Chris must've caught the flush Victor no doubt was sporting, as his smile grew wider the longer Victor was taking to answer.

 _'Je le savais!'_ Chris exclaimed, laughing again.

Victor was tempted to dismiss him, but excitement won out in the end. He wanted so desperately to tell someone about Eros, about how he moved and the way he spoke. Though he supposed, Chris would know most of it already. Victor's own coach, Yakov, had been very strict at breakfast that he didn't want to know anything about what Victor got up to outside of practice when Victor had tried to bring up that he'd found inspiration. The intensity of everything was boiling over.

 _'D'accord,_ you win!' Victor said, hands clenching into fists as he started smiling. 'You were right. He was _perfect_. _Absolument parfait._ I've been skating since half seven, and all I can think about is him. The way he _moved,_ Chris!'

Chris was nodding along to everything Victor was saying, smiling fondly and standing straight in his skates as Victor twirled in his with emotion as he retold the story of how Eros had brought him dancing, how he was convinced Eros had to have some training as a dancer.

'Is Eros his real name?' Victor asked, the thought suddenly occuring to him and then he mentally kicked himself. Of course _Eros_ wasn't a real name. Victor continued before Chris could reply; 'Do you think he'd tell me his real name?'

Chris raised his eyebrows; 'Don't get ahead of yourself, Victor. I've been sleeping with the man for four years and I can't even tell you for certain how old he is.'

Victor waved a hand, ignoring that.

'I have to see him again', Victor said, holding his own chin in thought. 'It's good I have you here, actually. I need to get his number from you.'

'You're thinking of booking again?' Chris asked, sounding genuinely surprised. Victor's smiled faltered for the first time.

'Of course,' he said. 'Why wouldn't I?'

'I just didn't think you'd have it in you, to be honest,' Chris said, lisp a little more prevalent as he lowered his voice, almost like he was admitting something. 'Are you sure?'

'Never been more certain of something,' Victor said with conviction he truly felt. Chris scratched at his own stubble, watching Victor carefully.

'I don't want you to take this the wrong way, Victor,' Chris said slowly and Victor frowned in confusion. Chris sighed, swinging his arms aimlessly around him. Chris met his eye, gaze discerning. 'But you've always been a romantic. I don't want you to get involved with something you can't handle.'

Victor blinked, offended. He scoffed; 'I'm twenty-seven years old, Chris. I'm not some hopeless teenager. I know what I'm doing.'

'I'm not sure you do.'

'It was you who suggested this in the first place,' Victor retorted, tone a little sharp as he grew defensive. Chris sighed again, shaking his head a little.

'I know. But-'

'Chris, in all likelihood, this will be my last season. I need all the help I can get to stop from getting completely bored with it all together,' Victor said, knowing it was manipulative to hold his skating career hostage when he knew how much he inspired Chris, but Victor needed this. He needed to see Eros again. 'There's nothing wrong with indulging a little.'

'Hmm.' Chris rubbed at his neck awkwardly, mulling it over. Victor canted his hips, skates whispering across the ice as he moved. 'I'll give you his website. The number is there, and his rates, too.'

Victor grinned, leaning forward to kiss Chris on the cheek with flourish before pushing off into momentum.

'You're too good, my friend!' Victor called back as he skated towards the exit, Chris huffing behind him.

The thought of seeing Eros again made Victor's heart rabbit in his chest. Victor would have to get him to dance again, wanted to see if he could surprise Eros the way he always tried to surprise his audience. Victor wanted Eros to blush as prettily as he did when they first met, wanted Eros to lose his accent with how good Victor could be to him.

Victor wanted all of it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mu'dak - asshole  
> konechno - of course  
> onegai - please  
> pryanichek - diminutive for someone who's sweet with a bit of spice  
> miliy - diminutive 'dear/darling'  
> je le savais - i knew it  
> d'accord - okay/alright  
> absolument parfait - absolutely perfect


	3. Retention

'Yuuri!'

Yuuri groaned into his sleeping bag, head throbbing a little from the bright winter light that was pouring in the window. Should've packed the curtains last. He blinked blearily as somone sat down on the bed, mattress bouncing. Yuuri groaned unhappily, rubbing his eyes roughly.

'Phichit?' he asked, confused and reaching over for his glasses, slipping them on to find Phichit was indeed sitting on his bed. Yuuri suddenly felt far more awake, sitting up straight. 'What time is it? What are you doing here?!'

'It's about half-eight,' Phichit answered brightly, smiling and looking far too happy for the early hour. Yuuri frowned at him.

'You should be at the rink! The short-program is tomorrow,' he said sternly, but Phichit only grinned at him, undeterred.

'We're moving today, I couldn't abandon you!' Phichit said, rummaging in his jersey pocket for his phone, no doubt. Phichit gave Yuuri a side glance. 'Unlike  _some_ people, I would never ditch my friends.'

'I already said I was sorry,' Yuuri grumbled, kicking Phichit off his bed through the sleeping bag. 'Also I hired a truck. You don't even have to be here. What will Celestino say?'

'Of course I do, I can't trust some stranger with my babies! Besides, Ciao-Ciao said I could,' Phichit said, scrolling through his phone as he tossed his head in the direction of his hamsters, their cage on the desk being the one thing not packed up in a box. Yuuri stumbled out of the sleeping bag, shirtless and cold in the morning chill. Yuuri stretched just as he heard Phichit's phone go off. Yuuri tried to cover himself, but too late.

'Attractive,' Phichit said, grinning. Yuuri wished he hadn't packed the pillows so he'd have something to throw at him. Yuuri squealed in protest as Phichit kept typing on his phone.

'Are- are you uploading that? Don't upload that!' Yuuri stuttered, waving his hands but Phichit ignored him, putting his phone back into his pocket and sticking his tongue out at Yuuri.

The morning went by quickly. Yuuri showered before throwing on an old Wayne State hoodie and sweats, listening to Phichit excitedly tell him all the latest gossip from Instagram and Twitter in regards to Skate America, which was starting tomorrow as Yuuri sat on the bed to tie his laces. But all Yuuri could think about was the night before. He thought about the cerulean of Victor's eyes, and how up close Victor's top lip was slightly bowed. Yuuri wanted to tell Phichit so desperately, wanted to confess that instead of grabbing a pizza with his flatmate he was on the most wonderful date of his life with  _Victor Nikiforov._

(Alright, maybe not a  _date_ , exactly. But there was dancing and there was sex. And Victor hadn't strictly paid himself. So it definitely counted as a  _something_ in Yuuri's mind).

Yuuri couldn't wrap his head around what had happened. It was like a dream. Victor was everything Yuuri had ever expected when he used to fantasise of meeting him, yet he also had nothing in common with the distant god Yuuri had built up inside his head.

Victor in person, as it turned out, was infinitely more impulsive than his rigorously trained programs would suggest and far more pliable than Yuuri had ever imagined someone as untouchable as Victor appeared to be.

And of course he was good in bed, surprising no one. He had been all hard muscle, lithe and so very warm. Yuuri was still a bit sore, shifting on the bed every now and then to try and alleviate the ache as Phichit spoke.

There was something about the pain that made Yuuri bite his lip as it would move through, traveling up his back like someone's fingers would. Something pleasing, suggestive. Illicit. The secret Yuuri carried; that the great Victor Nikiforov, who didn't even recognise Yuuri mere hours after Yuuri had skated before him all those years ago, had fucked him, _Katsuki Yuuri,_ so enthusiastically the night before that Yuuri could still trace the imprints of Victor's short nails on his thighs.

'You okay?' Phichit asked, slipping his red parka on. Yuuri found he was smiling to himself, a little too brightly. Yuuri trained his face to a more neutral smile, with difficulty.

'All good. Just excited to be moving,' Yuuri replied but Phichit eyed him sceptically.

The movers arrived on time and true to his word, Phichit carried the hamsters down himself, opting to take them in the taxi with himself and Yuuri.

'Wow,' Phichit said as they entered their new apartment, his voice echoing off the freshly painted walls. 'This place is huge.'  
  
'You've seen the photos,' Yuuri said, following Phichit in after signing the receipt for the movers.

'Yeah, but still!'

Phichit walked down the hallway of the L-shaped apartment, past the two bedrooms and bathroom and around the corner into the open plan kitchen and living area, where all their boxes sat in large piles. He turned in place, taking in the large windows and hamsters squeaking erratically in his hands from their cage. Yuuri smiled at him, pleased at how happy he looked. Yuuri had really hoped Phicit would like it.  
  
'So what's the catch?' Phichit asked, putting the hamsters down on the coffee table. Yuuri put his lips together.  
  
'What do you mean?'

'C'mon, Yuuri. This place is too nice for us to afford. It's got to be. Someone probably died in it,' Phichit said, eyeing the kitchen as if a body might fall out of the fridge.

Yuuri shifted uncomfortably, biting his lip and tugging at the drawstrings of his hood.

It was inevitable real, Yuuri knew that. He had hoped to put it off a little longer. And he was  _planning_ to tell Phichit the truth, he really was. Eventually. After all, they were living together now. Properly, not just in a dorm-room at college, but they'd signed a lease together in a big, adult apartment like two proper grown-ups. They were building a life now. Yuuri couldn't keep lying to him, it wouldn't be fair. Yuuri didn't  _want_ to keep lying to him.

It was like after all the years of continuous little lies, each one had become like a brick in a wall. Yuuri was beginning to feel like he was a satellite in Phichit's life. It was beginning to hurt.

It was more than just telling Phichit about last night, which Yuuri was dying to do. That was just one last nail in the coffin of this decision that Yuuri had been dancing around for weeks now. It was putting a wedge between them, one that couldn't sustain itself now they had taken this big step in staying in each other's lives. They had graduated now. There were no more classes to keep Phichit distracted when the skating season was over.

It was bound to drive them apart if the lying continued and Yuuri didn't want to accept the inevitable loss of his friend by not taking the risk he'd stay if Yuuri told him the truth.

Phichit was watching him carefully now, look of disbelief moulding into one of confusion; 'Yuuri, are you alright? You look a bit pale.'

'Uh- I'm fine!' Yuuri stammered, holding his hands palm up towards Phichit, sounding anything but fine even to himself.

Yuuri was hoping to put it off until after Skate America; that would only be fair. Yuuri knew all too well how bad news before a competition could ruin someone's chances. And this would definitely be taken as  _bad news._

'Yuuri, tell me what's up,' Phichit said, pulling his baseball cap off and fidgeting with it.

'It's nothing, really. Just thinking about what you said,' Yuuri said, shrugging and hoping it came off as nonchalant. Phichit's mouth dropped.

'Oh my god, did someone actually  _die_  here?' Phichit looked around the room with wide eyes, like blood might start pouring from the walls.

Yuuri laughed nervously; 'No, no, of course not. It's nothing like that.'

Phichit caught the meaning before Yuuri did, Yuuri closing his eyes in frustration at himself. God, he was hopeless. Could spin a whole life-story about being from Tokyo of all places to a stranger; couldn't hold himself together for five minutes when faced with his best-friend. Yuuri should probably get therapy for that kind of neuro-breakdown.

'Then what is it? Don't try and tell it isn't something. You're doing that jumpy thing you do,' Phichit said sternly, walking up to Yuuri and rubbing his arms. Yuuri looked away, looked anywhere but at Phichit's eyes, charcoal grey in the morning light. Yuuri tried not to panic. But once Phichit got onto something, he was like a dog with a bone.

'How about breakfast?'

'Yuuri.'

'We could go to that place by campus! You love it there.'

' _Yuuri.'_

Yuuri bit his lip again, nervous habit, as he held his hands up to his chest, trying to appear smaller. This really wasn't the plan. Yuuri wanted to confess, but not before Skate America. What if Phichit took it really badly? What if Yuuri was the reason he messed up? Not that Yuuri  _thought_  he was going to mess-up, but- ugh, it was all getting away from him. Yuuri wished Phichit would just stop looking at him for a moment, give Yuuri the chance to catch his breath and figure out how to handle the situation later.

But Phichit wasn't giving up.

'Yuuri, tell me what's wrong. Don't tell me you're having second thoughts,' he said, laughing a little nervously before he stopped, eyes wide. 'Are you?'

'N-no!' Yuuri said, voice higher than it needed to be and definitely giving away his panic. This was all spiralling, he'd backed himself into a corner. Maybe he should just make something up. But that would just be another lie to explain later.

'Then what is it?'

'I- I can't talk about this now,' Yuuri said hurriedly and Phichit's frown grew deeper. He tightened his grip on Yuuri a little.

'Okay, Yuuri. You're scaring me a little, not gonna lie.'

Yuuri swallowed, small whimper of panic escaping him.

'Just leave it, Phichit. We can talk later-'

'We can talk now,' Phichit said stubbornly, letting go of Yuuri to sit on the coffee table next to his hamsters. He looked up at Yuuri expectantly, smiling but his eyes betrayed to Yuuri how nervous he was. Yuuri couldn't blame him. If it was him, he'd be scared of Yuuri's behaviour, too. Yuuri took a deep breath, willing himself to be calm.

Alright. Fine.

He could do this. He was going to do it anyway, right? Phichit was his best friend. They'd shared so much together, lived together for four years. He was the person Yuuri was most close to in the world, having left his sister and family behind in Japan. Yuuri knew Phichit wouldn't be happy. After all, Yuuri had lied for quite a long time. But he was sure Phichit would understand, or at the very least he cared about Yuuri enough to try to. Yuuri could feel his heart speed up, fear flooding through him.

Deep breath. One, two, three-

'About the apartment,' Yuuri started, licking his lips nervously but Phichit waited patiently. He let out another shaky breath. 'About the rate you're paying, and how I can afford to take so much on myself. It's- it's kind of a long story. It's important though. I was hoping to tell you after the competition, but...'

'Okay,' Phichit said slowly, tentative smile falling away completely as he focused solely on Yuuri.

'I was- you know, I was going to tell you anyway.'

'Tell me what?' Phichit asked tilting his head and Yuuri squeaked, panic crawling up his throat.

Yuuri sighed, thrusting his hands down to his side and standing up straight. This was fine. All it was, was the truth. Yuuri could tell the truth. He made a living lying. Lying was work, so being honest should be easy compared to that. But it was surprisingly more difficult to tell the true story rather than making up a new one.

Okay. Start at the beginning.

'Do you remember Hannah, from freshman year?'

Yuuri wasn't sure how long it took. It felt like he'd be talking for well over an hour, Phichit completely silent the entire time. His face was unreadable, carefully blank after his intitial gasp of surprise once Yuuri used the word 'escort'. It was the only sound he'd made in the entire time that Yuuri told the story, documenting back the last four years. How Hannah had introduced him to her agent. How he and Hannah had fallen out not long later, just after an accident Phichit had had in the rink in sophomore year where Yuuri resented her as he hadn't been there to help, having been out on a booking. How after that Yuuri had taken the initiative to make his own website and vet clients himself, giving him more control over when and where he'd be.

Yuuri kept talking until his throat became dry. The longer he spoke, the darker Phichit's look became until there was nothing left to say at all.

'So,' Phichit said at last, voice very quiet. 'All this time, that's what you've been doing.'

'Y-yeah,' Yuuri said, unsure what else to say.

Phichit wasn't looking at him, instead staring off towards the kitchen. Yuuri shifted from foot to foot, before deciding to sit down on the couch in front of Phichit. He waited for Phichit to say something, anything. The only sound was the rummaging of the hamsters and the stray honk of a car horn outside.

'Say something, please,' Yuuri said after a long silence, unable to stop himself. The silence was driving him mad.

'I'm not sure what there is to say,' Phichit replied, meeting Yuuri's eye for the first time since they had started. He looked angry, which only served to make the nausea in Yuuri's stomach all the worse. 'All these years, you were lying to me. Right to my face. Over and over.'

'I didn't know how to tell you,' Yuuri said truthfully, but it sounded like a weak excuse out loud.

'Right,' was all Phichit said. He stood up, running his hands over his thighs like he wasn't sure what to do with them. He looked at his hamsters, back to Yuuri and then away again. 'Sorry, I just- I have no idea what to do right now.'

'You don't have to do anything!' Yuuri said, perhaps a little desperately as he looked up at Phichit. 'I just didn't want to lie to you anymore.'

'Right,' Phichit said again, running a hand through his dark hair. It was awful. Yuuri wanted the floor to swallow him, regret pooling fast in him. He felt the corner of his eyes prickle, treacherous tears beginning to form.

'Is it even legal?' Phichit asked, sounding a bit manic. Yuuri blinked and the tears fell before he could stop them.

'Not- exactly,' he said quietly. Phichit made an aborted noise, turning in place and holding his face in his hands.

'Oh my god,' Phichit groaned, sounding very mad now. Yuuri was expecting it, but it didn't make it hurt any less. 'I can't believe... God, do I even know you at all?!'

'Of course you do!' Yuuri replied wetly, sounding suspiciously like a sob.

'This massive thing about you and I had no idea,' Phichit said, ignoring Yuuri. It felt like being punched. He looked at Yuuri furiously. 'So you never worked for that company? Are they even real?'

'Sort of,' Yuuri murmured, unwilling to admit to anything else but knowing he'd have to. 'In that I created it. So there was somewhere for the money to go.'

Phichit's eyes looked wild in shock, his mouth opening and closing for a moment before he stammered out a response; 'You what?!'

Yuuri flinched at the tone, glasses slipping down his nose. Phichit made another noise of frustration, walking around the coffee table to put space between them. Phichit waved his hands madly, face still screwed in anger.

'What are you even doing? Is it safe? How do you know you aren't walking into some murder house! You could've been killed a thousand times over!'

'I have checks-' Yuuri started, but Phichit didn't let him finish.

'Yuuri, what if you get caught? What does that mean?' Phichit asked frantically. 'Do you go to prison?'

'That won't happen,' Yuuri said, trying to keep his voice from wavering and failing miserably. Phichit scoffed cruelly.

'You're unbelievable,' he said. Phichit looked around the apartment, at the unopened boxes and bare walls. He motioned to it with his hands. 'So like, is that why we got the bigger place? Somewhere for you to work?'

'I'd never bring a client here!' Yuuri replied, shocked.

'Client? What the f- do you even hear yourself?' Phichit cried before turning away from Yuuri again to mutter something furiously in Thai. Yuuri only caught snippets, none of it good. His throat hurt at the mention of 'whore'. Phichit took a few steadying breaths, silence for the moment.

'I just can't believe it,' Phichit said quietly, looking out at the kitchen, hands on his hips. He looked defeated. Yuuri sniffed, tears falling fast now. 'I mean, you're you. You couldn't even speak to that guy at Starbucks who asked for your number!'

'That's different-'

'Why? Because he wasn't paying?' Phichit said meanly and Yuuri felt a sharp stab of hurt at the comment. He didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing. Phichit looked at him at last, looking a little bit sorry under all the anger. 'I'm sorry I didn't- I don't know. I just have no idea what to do with this.'

'I understand,' Yuuri said and he did. This was exactly why Yuuri had never told anyone. If this was how Phichit responded, then it only showed that Yuuri was right in thinking that if his family, God forbid, ever found out, Yuuri would surely die from it.

'Is this why you quit skating?' Phichit asked and Yuuri was genuinely surprised by the question.

'No,' Yuuri said, because it was true. Sort of. Yuuri couldn't deny that the ease and wealth of escorting held an obvious appeal compared to the hard work and sparse winnings of skating.

'Why though? You've got your degree, you could do anything. You still skate!' Phichit said. 'Why this?'

'Would you believe me if I said I enjoyed it?' Yuuri asked, rubbing his tears away with the sleeve of his hoodie, unable to meet Phichit's gaze.

'As much as you enjoy skating?' Phichit asked and Yuuri paused before answering.

'Not exactly. It's just- it's different,' Yuuri answered lamely, not sure how to explain it, twisting the ends of his sleeves over his fingers.

'All these years, I just thought you were working stuff out. You keep training with me and Celestino, so I just assumed you'd go back to competing eventually,' Phichit said, seemingly talking more to himself than Yuuri now. Yuuri nodded to show he was listening, afraid to say anything more. Phichit laughed bitterly. 'Shows what I know. This is insane.'

'I'm sorry, Phichit. I really am. But I just- I had to tell you,' Yuuri said, meaning every word and finally making himself look at Phichit again. Phichit's dark eyebrows were furrowed, mouth bent in an ugly way. Yuuri swallowed thickly.

They stayed like that for a while, silent and stewing. Yuuri wasn't sure how long they were quiet for, the light changing in the apartment as the morning grew late. The hamsters squeaked, making up for conversation. Yuuri sniffed again, hoping the tears would stop soon. He was sure his face was red, too.

'I'm going to the rink,' Phichit said finally. Yuuri lost his breath a little.

'Do you want me to come with you?'

'No,' Phichit said firmly as he put his hat back on, heading towards the hall and passing the couch quickly. Yuuri stood up, not sure whether he should follow Phichit or not.

'I'll see you later, then?' he called out. Phichit didn't answer, disappearing around the corner. Yuuri heard the door open and slam close from down the hall.

Once Phichit was gone, Yuuri felt like he had nothing left in him to hold himself up. He collapsed down onto the couch, crying earnestly now.

He wished he could've said nothing. Wished he hadn't wanted to be so damn noble. He should've kept lying. Yuuri felt disgusted with himself. Revolted by how angry he had made Phichit, at how he'd made Phichit feel like they were complete strangers to each other. Yuuri curled into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest. The latent anxiety was washing over him now, scenario after scenario running through his head where Phichit didn't come back, where Phichit outed Yuuri to his family. Yuuri knew Phichit would never do that, but the fear was there anyway. Eating at him.

Yuuri's phone, (personal), beeped from his pocket. He ignored it for a while, before it beeped again. Giving in, Yuuri wiped at his snotty face before taking it out. He looked at the message alerts, (texts from back home), ignoring them to focus on the lock screen image.

It was a picture stolen from Victor's Instagram, by Phichit. Almost candid, (but likely not), it was an older one of when Victor's hair was still long, down past his shoulders. He had his toned arms around a big, fluffy poodle. Makkachin, Yuuri knew as the dog's name. Yuuri could remember the way those arms looked from the night before so vividly, the joy the memory had given him that morning dulled down to a parody almost.

The greatest night of Yuuri's life right before the worst day.

Yuuri remembered their evening, all four glorious hours. It came to him in slow, heady waves. Dancing with Victor, the way Yuuri had always dreamed of doing so on the ice. The feeling of weightlessness he had when Victor had lifted him, the heat of Victor's body and the ghosts of his fingertips. The memory of Victor inside of him, hard and wanting, teeth bared. Yuuri closed the phone and threw it across the couch.

That all seemed so far away now. Yuuri hung his head in hands, feeling sick and miserable.

He thought of Phichit, wished that Phichit would forgive him. Yuuri didn't know what he'd do if Phichit didn't.

The door suddenly opened again and Yuuri sat up straight, confused. Phichit came back into the living area, still quite worked up but Yuuri was filled with such relief to see him that it didn't matter. Yuuri watched Phichit, kneeling and leaning up against the back of the couch as Phichit turned in quick, frantic circles. Yuuri held his breath, trying not too hope too much.

'Alright,' Phichit said finally, voice squeaking a little. He waved his hand in Yuuri's direction but didn't look at him, eyes downcast to the floor and cheeks a little red. 'You didn't tell me. I get why. I mean, alright- yeah, okay. Makes sense.'

Yuuri just listened as Phichit babbled, cautious of the hope that was starting to brew in him. Phichit put his hands on his hips, clearly unsure what to do with them. Then he looked at Yuuri head on, eyes like a storm and mouth pouting.

'I'm glad you told me,' Phichit said, looking determined. 'We're friends. Like, we are still friends aren't we?'

'Of course!' Yuuri replied immediately.

'Right. Good. Then that's it,' Phichit said before he pointed at Yuuri like someone might if they were scolding a child. 'No more lying. I don't care how _weird_ or illegal it is, you don't lie to me anymore about what you're doing. It still doesn't sound safe to me. You need backup. If this is what you really want to do, then- yeah, I'll be here. I'm your backup.'

Yuuri was stunned to silence and there were more tears. All the pressure was leaking out of him now, latent fear and gushing relief flooding through like a broken dam. The hamsters rattled in their cage as Phichit began to look a bit awkward, shifting from foot to foot. He then gave Yuuri another glare, pointing again with flourish.

'So there!' he said dramatically. Phichit then turned, looking ready to leave again. 'Now I'm going to the rink. And you-' He pointed again. '-are not going to freak out about it. I'll be fine, I just need the day or something.'

Yuuri realised he was nodding silently a little too late and he replied hurriedly to catch up; 'Okay. Sure!'

'Good,' Phichit said, making to leave proper this time.

'Phichit!' Yuuri called, throat hoarse from the crying. Phichit paused before vanishing down the hall, looking at Yuuri over his shoulder. Yuuri tried to smile, but the emotion was too huge, face contorting as another sob stumbled out of him; 'Thank you.'

Something softened a bit on Phichit's face, but he only nodded in reply before leaving again. This time the door didn't slam. Yuuri sank back onto his legs, heart racing and still feeling a bit sick with the intensity of it all. But something had uncoiled itself in his chest. He felt lighter, lighter than he had in months.

Yuuri let himself smile, just a little, before lying back down on the couch. He flinched as his ass twinged again, adjusting himself as Yuuri stared up at the ceiling. He knew it wasn't all okay, not really. They'd probably still have to talk about it a bit more. Phichit would have questions and Yuuri would answer them. Explain the laws better, explain his system so Phichit wouldn't worry about Yuuri's safety or money.

Yuuri had been so sure going into the conversation that Phichit would put their friendship above any reservations he'd have, but Yuuri had no idea how afraid he was that Phichit _wouldn't_ do that until it was happening. Yuuri let himself cry a little longer, tears hot and fast. He was still reeling from the shock of it all, stomach churning and headache beginning to form.

But it was worth it. If Phichit was willing to try then Yuuri would do anything to make it easier for him.

 

* * *

 

'So, what do you know about him?' Victor asked, opening the message Chris had sent him as it arrived, practice finishing earlier for them both at about ten.

'Eros?' Chris replied distractedly as he started unlacing his skates, body bent over elegantly on the bench in the competition rink's changing rooms. 'Not that much, to be honest. It's the nature of these things, you know.'

Victor did not know.

'But you must know some things!' Victor exclaimed, sitting down next to Chris as he tapped through the link to Eros' website.

Victor was struck by how, well, _classy_ it looked because Victor would be lying if he thought he hadn't been expecting something a little different from a prostitutes website. The colour red, particularly was one of those expectations. But the website was all black and white with a sleek, modern font.

There were some photos, too but none of Eros' face. Not that Victor needed that, as he'd seen enough of Eros and the memories of the night before so new that Victor recalled Eros rather intimately. The gallery was a selection of discreet and illicit; naked chest and bare arms, Eros' now familiar body pressed up against the frame of a large window, hidden behind chiffon curtains. It looked professionally done. Victor wondered idly where one would go to get photos taken for their escorting website.

Maybe he'd ask Eros about it himself.

'I really don't know him that well,' Chris continued, Victor taking a moment to remember what they were talking about as he tore his eyes from his phone. Chris was frowning at the knot in the laces of his left skate. Victor _tsked_ _,_ his reply coming out a little darker than intended.

'That's all you have to say? You've been sleeping with him for four years.'

If Victor sounded jealous, (which he wasn't), then Chris said nothing, only pausing in his untying for a moment at Victor's tone. Instead, he answered blithely; 'We weren't dating, Victor.'

'I know that.'

'And what you'd be doing wouldn't be dating either.'

'I know!' Victor sighed, frustrated at Chris treating him like he was some idiot. Victor knew he was paying to see Eros for the time, he understood that. Victor also intended to have sex with Eros again during that time, preferably a few more times if he was being honest. But Victor couldn't just sleep with him and not want to know anything else.

Despite Victor's lucrative reputation for doing just that, he wasn't really a casual sex-having person.

(Present company excluded, that is. And even then, Chris was his friend).

Chris chuckled a little at Victor's stubborness and Victor pouted at him, undaunted; 'I'm just curious.'

'You say like that's any less dangerous coming from you,' Chris said as he finally pulled his skates off. 'Well, Eros is from Tokyo originally. I'm not sure how long he's lived in the US. He likes champagne and those Mikado biscuits. You know the ones? Like sticks. Never drinks beer, or he never did with me and he said he didn't like it. Not a fan of Italian food. Oh, and he studied ballet as a child.'

'I knew it!' Victor interrupted, inordinately pleased with the small, random bits of information Chris had given him. A picture started to form in Victor's mind, the image of Eros sweetly taking a bite of Mikado or stretched out across a ballet barre. Victor was sure Eros still did some form of dance, he had to. 'What else?'

'We didn't exactly share our life stories during our sessions, _mon chéri,_ _'_ Chris said with a small laugh as he pulled his gear bag across the floor for his skates. 'I mean, I guess _I_ did a little. He's so easy to talk to, which you no doubt missed entirely as by the sounds of it you two skipped conversation completely.'

'Something I hope to make up for,' Victor said quickly, blushing a little despite how pleasing the memories of the night before were. Chris laughed at him again.

'You could just ask Eros yourself. I'm sure people ask him all the time in his line of work,' Chris said, before he stopped and looked thoughtful. 'Actually, perhaps not. He said he rarely has bookings for over two hours last time we were together. Only so much you can do in two hours.'

Chris winked at him but what Chris said struck something deep in Victor. Like a discordant note in a song. Out of tune. The thought that right now, at this moment, Eros could very well be with someone else. Could even be waking up in someone else's bed after leaving Victor the night before alone in his.

It felt like being punched in the stomach.

Chris picked up on Victor's sudden silence, eyeing him carefully from his side of the bench; ' _Ça va?'_

'Mmm,' Victor hummed, eyes back on his phone he scrolled through Eros' photos.

It didn't say explicity what Eros offered anywhere. Under the heading _You and I,_ the closest Eros was offering was 'discreet and delightful experiences'. Nothing to suggest what Victor and Eros had engaged in the night before. Victor tried to tell himself that just because when Eros worked with Victor and Chris he'd slept with them doesn't mean Eros slept with everyone who hired him.

Not that Victor had a problem if Eros did. As that would be insane, as Victor didn't even know Eros and Eros was a _prostitute_ for all intents and purposes and Victor really had no right to be jealous. Which he wasn't.

At all.

'So, still thinking of seeking two hours' inspiration?' Chris said, tone flirty and teasing as he shoved his skates into the gear bag. Victor thumbed his way down Eros' rates and froze. He really shouldn't have let Chris pay for him the night before.

'Fifteen hundred dollars an hour?!' Victor said, shocked as he read Eros' rates per session, which listed options ranging from two hours to overnights. Chris shook his head, grinning.

'Japanese man, but American culture, _mon chéri,'_ Chris replied, standing up after slipping his trainers back on. 'But like I told you, I get a special rate for loyalty.'

Chris winked but Victor didn't smile back, concerned.

'I should reimburse you.'

'I told you it was a gift.'

'You can't give me a person,' Victor said stubbornly though it was evidently untrue given all that happened. Chris raised one eyebrow at Victor before moving to get his coat from the hooks by the changing room exit.

'I think you're failing to grasp the basic concept here, Victor,' Chris teased light heartedly, putting his coat on. He looked at Victor straight, gaze meeting. The hazel of Chris' eyes was warm, like cinnamon. 'Eros is a nice person and he has been in this job a long time. He's good at it, but if you change your mind later he'll understand and return your money.'

'I won't change my mind,' Victor replied, finally putting his phone away to unlace his own skates.

'Thought not. Just be careful,' Chris said before waving goodbye and leaving the changing room.

Victor ignored him, as he was twenty-seven years old and did not need to be told when to be careful by a twenty-five year old Swiss man.

 

* * *

 

 

 **12:34PM** _I want to book you. -Victor_

 **12:35PM** I'll have to check my availability. When did you have in mind?

 **12:35PM** _Tonight and tomorrow night. 9PM?_

**12:37PM** That's a big commitment. Lucky for you, I'm available. 2 hours per evening?

 **12:37PM** _I think 4 should be sufficient. Cadillac bar again?_

 **12:38PM** I'll put it in my diary. Do you need payment details?

 **12:38PM** _Chris has sorted me out. I'll pay in full for both days._

 **12:38PM** Perfect. Seems Russian efficiency isn't just a stereotype.

 **12:39PM** _Did you do some research on me? I'm flattered._

 **12:41PM** The accent gave you away.

 **12:41PM** _Silly me. Do you have gym gear? Loose trousers, under-armour?_

 **12:41PM** Yes. Is this a request?

 **12:42PM** _Bring it in a gear bag with you tonight. I look forward to seeing you._

 **12:42PM** Me too. X

 

* * *

 

 

Victor bit his lip to contain his excitement, scrolling through the brief conversation again just to imagine Eros saying the words he had typed. He had his head resting on a hand, elbow on the table. A very small sigh of joy broke through Victor's teeth and Yakov cleared his throat purposefully from across the table in the Westins restaurant. Victor snapped out of his thoughts, looking at Yakov's stern face.

Yakov Feltsman, who had been Victor's coach since he had started skating at 11, was pushing seventy now and looked every day of it. There were deep frown lines on his face and his mouth was always downturned in dissatisfaction. Victor grinned innocently, running a hand through his freshly showered hair, knowing how it always made Yakov grit his teeth. Victor liked to think it was envy, as Yakov's hair was most certainly thinning.

(A fate Victor genuinely feared for himself, not that he'd ever admit it).

 _'Mne ochen' zhal', chto eto bylo?'_ Victor chimed, delighting as Yakov rolled his icy eyes to the ceiling before taking a long sip of his coffee.

 _'Glupyy mal'chik,'_ Yakov muttered, putting his mug down with a little more force than necessary.

Victor shrugged, sitting back up straight as Yakov launched into a tirade about Victor getting distracted. Which was funny really, as Victor wasn't listening one bit. Instead, his mind wandered to what the evening ahead held in store.

Everything was arranged, the idea coming to Victor just after Chris had left him that morning in the changing room. It took a bit of doing, but Victor had managed it with his usual grace. He was sure he could break through to Eros again, have Eros reveal to Victor what he kept carefully hidden.

Yes, Eros was incredibly talented. Chris' loyalty through the years was proof enough of Eros' ability to entrance his clients. But Victor was going to be different.

Victor was going to surprise Eros, truly and completely. Victor wasn't going to be like any client Eros had had before. He wouldn't let himself be.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ça va? - alright/okay?  
> Mne ochen' zhal', chto eto bylo? - I'm sorry, what was that?  
> Glupyy mal'chik - stupid boy


	4. Shift Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Yuuri is hot shit.

' _Stop! Stop!'_ Celestino cried out, his accent giving the word an _a_ Phichit knew it didn't have.  
  
Phichit sighed, skidding to a halt across the ice. The scratching noise was ugly. Phichit had never thought that before, but everything had been _not right_ today. He leant forward on his knees, trying to catch his breath as he saw Celestino, his coach, moving out of the corner of his eye. (Affectionately called _Ciao-Ciao_ by Phichit and Yuuri in their freshman year due to his native Italian greeting. The nickname had stuck). Wiping a hand across his forehead, Phichit started towards the awning where Celestino was waving him over.  
  
'What's up with you today? It's not like you to be in such poor form,' Celestino said, face strict and green eyes dark with concern. Phichit looked away, kicking his skate into the ice.  
  
'It's nothing. I guess I'm just nervous about the competition tomorrow,' Phichit lied, sounding unhappy even to himself. Shaking his head a bit, Phichit put on the biggest smile he could muster. 'I'm just getting it all out of my system, you know!'  
  
'Hmm.' Celestino pinched his large chin. 'I think we should call it for today. You've done enough. I know you're ready for the short-program tomorrow.'  
  
Phichit was not panicking. Nope, no way. But he didn't want to leave the rink, didn't want to face what was waiting outside of it. His hands balled into fists; 'I can go again!'  
  
'Take a break, Phichit!' Celestino said, sounding amused. 'It's not often I offer one. And you already wanted today off for the move, didn't you?'  
  
'It's done. Yuuri hired a truck,' Phichit mumbled, Yuuri telling him that morning seeming like a memory from a whole other life. Celestino gave Phichit a strange look, curly hair bobbing.  
  
'Then spend the day with Yuuri. You deserve it,' he said, smiling. Phichit felt his stomach turn at the thought.  
  
'He's working,' Phichit said darkly, but he moved to step off the ice anyway.  
  
'Always busy, that boy. Shame, really.'  
  
Busy. Hah. If only Ciao-Ciao knew what Phichit knew now.  
  
Phichit felt miserable, head heavy and nauseous since the morning. Not even skating had worked to lift his mood. He stepped off the ice, slipping the guards onto his skates.  
  
Really, this whole day had been mental. Qualifying for the Grand Prix tomorrow should've been the only thing on Phichit's mind, but it was the last thing he could think about. Yuuri hadn't just blown Phichit's mind- he'd completely demolished Phichit's sense of reality. Katsuki Yuuri was supposed to be Phichit's best-friend and was one of the biggest dorks Phichit knew. Like, a _massive_ dork.  
  
People ask Phichit's Yuuri out and Yuuri _malfunctions._ And now Yuuri was trying to tell Phichit he was a-  
  
Phichit flinched to himself. He couldn't even think about it. It was insane. More than that- it was straight up, down the rabbit hole, eat all the mushrooms and explode in a puff of smoke  _crazy._  
  
How was Phichit supposed to carry on, knowing this? Phichit wasn't even sure how he felt about Yuuri telling him. Obviously, Phichit was glad he wasn't being lied to anymore. On the other hand, he had been lied to in the first place. A lot. For a long, long time. Phichit knew why Yuuri hadn't told him, he could see the reasoning. And Phichit liked to think that if Yuuri had been very honest, back when they had just gotten started, maybe Phichit would've been okay with it.  
  
Phichit wasn't sure. But he wished Yuuri had given him the chance.  
  
In the changing room, Phichit scrolled through his phone. He went through old pictures, mostly selfies and a lot of them featuring Yuuri. Including the one they had taken just yesterday in their old dorm-room. God, this was just- there were no words. How could the Yuuri Phichit thought he'd known have kept such a secret? How was Phichit supposed to reconcile these two people?  
  
Yuuri, the loser who actually managed to burn rice of all things once. And Yuuri the _escort._  
  
Phichit closed his phone, frustrated.   
  
Phichit had meant what he had said that morning. He wasn't going to just quit on Yuuri. Though obviously Yuuri had some serious issues, because who in the name of all that is good and tweetable becomes a prostitute for a living when they had so many other options? But Phichit wasn't going to just kick Yuuri to the curb for it. He was Phichit's best-friend, after all. He was just a bit of a shitty one, as it turned out.  
  
Alright. Maybe that wasn't fair.  
  
Moving to untie his laces, Phichit knew that he was probably still being a bit harsh. But jeez, he was so angry. Yuuri had lied so easily, for years. Who's to say he was going to stop? He could lie to Phichit all the time, even now. It was obvious Phichit couldn't tell.  
  
Kicking his skate off awkwardly with a stern shake, Phichit groaned, dropping his head in his hands. This was all just a bit much.  
  
Phichit's phone went off with a text message, interrupting his wallowing. Phichit picked it up again, frowning at the lockscreen.  
  
_(1)_ _ข้อความใหม่_ \- _Yuuri (´∀`)  
  
_ 'What are you? Psychic?!' Phichit muttered to his phone, (like Yuuri could possibly hear him). Phichit opened the message and sat back on the bench, one skate still on and the sock of his other foot getting damp from the floor.   
_  
_**12:12PM** Hey! I know you're probably still mad, I don't blame you. I just wanted to tell you that if you wanted I could clear my day today and we can hang out and talk. Only if you want to, of course. No pressure.  
  
Phichit chewed the inside of his cheek, unsure.  
  
A part of him definitely wanted to talk to Yuuri more. He had so many questions, so many things he still didn't understand. However, another part of Phichit was still pretty pissed off. (Try a lot pissed off). Yuuri was obviously nervous. Or at least, it was obvious to Phichit. (How many times had he used the word _want?_ Too many, anyway). But Phichit wasn't sure he was up to talking anymore about it, not after their emotional morning. He needed more time.  
  
Phichit thumbed up and down through their text conversation, thinking, but before Phichit could type a response, another message came through.  
_  
_**12:14PM** I am really sorry, Phichit. I just want to say it again.  
  
_Loser,_ Phichit thought, but he was smiling a little. Phichit knew Yuuri was sorry. And Phichit knew he'd already forgiven him, deep down. Under a layer of _pissed_ and another layer of _what the fuck_. But it was there.  
  
Sighing, Phichit typed out a reply.  
  
**12:15PM** _No, you do your thing. I want to clear my head anyway before tomorrow.  
  
_**12:15PM** Sure. I understand. Just as long as you're okay.  
  
Phichit decided to be honest. Especially as honesty was _definitely_ going to be a thing going forward for them both.   
  
**12:16PM** _I wouldn't say okay. I'm like majorly freaking out here, bud. But I'll be good. Just no more lying, like I said. I'm going be really strict on that. What time will you be back at the apartment?  
  
_**12:17PM** I should be back sometime after 1am.  
  
Okay, maybe Phichit was pushing it a little. But Yuuri had lied to him for four years about being a high class prostitute, so he figured he was entitled to do so.  
  
**12:17PM** _You better be back by 1:30.  If you're not, I'm reporting you as a missing person. Or kidnapped. Like 1.31am I'm calling the cops. Got it?  
  
_ Phichit ran his thumb over the home button, waiting.   
  
**12:17PM** You got it. <3  
  
It was really weird and Phichit did  _not_ get it at all. And if this was what Yuuri wanted to do, then Phichit would be there. But god dammit, Yuuri was going to have work a little to get Phichit's trust back to where it was. It was only fair.   
  
Phichit never thought he'd be the kind of guy to issue a curfew. He couldn't even stand up to his hamsters when they demanded more food than they needed. But hey, he never thought his best-friend was a freaking prostitute either.  
  
The regular rules did not apply. Time for new ones.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri hopped out of the taxi, thanking the driver as he did.  
_  
Giovanni's_ was old school Detroit, a bit far from the city centre but close to the competitive rink. Yuuri had been there a handful of times before, with Chris usually and the odd other client. It wasn't a frequent place for an appointment, most clients preferring somewhere a bit more refined or private. _Giovanni's_ was a little more 'family friendly.' And Yuuri wasn't really that keen on Italian food, even the Americanised version. But this wasn't a usual appointment.  
  
Yuuri took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself as a dull wave of nerves washed over him.  
  
His conversation with Phichit was still so fresh in his mind, words rattling around like dry rice in a bowl. Incessant, nagging thought. Yuuri hadn't seen Phichit since he'd left for the rink that morning and after allowing himself an hour or so to dwell in the uncertainty he still felt, Yuuri then forced himself to get ready for his later appointment. But even then, Yuuri couldn't resist texting Phichit, just to touch base with him. Just to check. Phichit had seemed okay-enough, but Yuuri just knew things weren't quite right yet.

Yuuri paused before the restaurant, shaking his head.  
  
Going to work felt- not tainted, but _affected_ somehow now he'd confessed to Phichit. Like now that someone knew exactly what he was doing, Yuuri should feel ashamed. It was a hard feeling to shake off, but Yuuri tried to force it down. He'd done this a thousand, thousand times before. Nothing had changed.  
  
(Yuuri wasn't sure how much he believed that though).  
  
Not that Yuuri had much time to think about it, as not soon after, Yuuri had gotten the text that he hadn't let himself dream he'd get.   
  
Victor had booked him.  _Again_. For _two_ nights. The thought made Yuuri's heart race, directly contrasting with the numbing thought of misery that remembering Phichit gave him. It made for an interesting emotional cocktail.   
  
A woman leaving the restaurant held the door open for Yuuri as he walked in and Yuuri nodded in acknowledgement, nerves brewing as he stepped into the warmth. He'd been careful when getting dressed, getting the impression that this date required something a little more casual. He'd gone with black trousers and a white t-shirt, blue knitted cardigan over. Almost like a _normal_ person. Yuuri wasn't sure what was expected of him yet, but he thought it best to avoid outright sexual. Focus more of the the  _friend_ part of the BFE.  
  
Yuuri had a strong feeling that this appointment would be very different from last nights'.  
  
_Funny_ , Yuuri thought as he handed his coat to the maître d'. _I always avoided skaters and here I am with one, twice in a row._ It was probably a little risky, but Yuuri hadn't been in the competitive circles for so long. And coming dead last in what turned out to be his final competition had done wonders for pushing Yuuri off the skating map. Phichit was his only real connection and even then, Yuuri rarely attended the competitions in person, just on the off-chance he'd run into Chris. Not that Yuuri would mind that, exactly, but it wouldn't be fair to put Chris in a position where he had to lie. Yuuri respected him so much.  
  
Across the restaurant, Yuuri spotted him, recognising him instantly. How could he not? He was such a big focus for this season.  
  
'Jean?' Yuuri asked anyway as he approached, making sure to sound friendly and unassuming. And just like always, everything else slipped away.   
  
For now, Yuuri could put being _Yuuri_ aside. Be someone else, just for a while.  
  
Jean-Jacques Leroy, the Canadian representative in Skate America, looked so much younger, much more his age in person. He was tapping the table in an agitated way, eyes moving around the restaurant nervously. He was handsome, too, Yuuri thought idly. He'd never paid that much attention to Leroy before this season, as only this season the likelihood that Leroy would be skating against Phichit became quite high. Most of the things he'd learned about JJ were things he'd researched in preparation for this booking.

What Yuuri had learned was JJ was nineteen, extremely confident, had a girlfriend and this was his first time using an escort service. Or at least it was in Detroit. As far as Yuuri's research showed, it could also be JJ's first time with a man. A situation Yuuri was not unfamiliar with in his line of work.

Yuuri wasn't even sure if he should've agreed to the appointment, now that he could see Leroy in person. But there was something so genuine about the way they had spoken on the phone, something that peaked Yuuri's curiosity.  
  
Yuuri's curiosity tended to get him into trouble.  
  
'It's JJ. Everyone calls me that,' Leroy said as he stood up, awkwardly hitting the table where the glasses chimed in protest. Yuuri smiled, putting a hand down to steady the table and extending the other to shake JJ's ambling hand between them. 'Are- you know, are you Eros?'  
  
'JJ,' Yuuri repeated, keeping the neutral tone. JJ was nervous, naturally. Yuuri had expected as much. 'Yes, I'm Eros. It's lovely to meet you.'  
  
'Hope so. I hear I'm a delight,' JJ said confidently, though his eyes were still a bit nervous. He sat down as Yuuri did while Yuuri took JJ in.  
  
JJ was tall and well built, training evident through the slim black shirt he was wearing. JJ ran a hand through his short hair. It was buzzed on the sides, fringe floppy. Olive skin. And he had blue eyes. A deep, dark blue that reminded Yuuri of denim. Very different to the blue eyes Yuuri had met the night before.  
  
JJ gave Yuuri a quick look over; 'You're not what I expected.'  
  
'No?' Yuuri said, tugging on the sleeves of his cardigan, trying to appear more self-conscious than he was. It would be good to give JJ the chance to get comfortable, feel more at ease. 'What were you expecting?'  
  
'I'm not really sure,' JJ replied, smiling slightly for the first time. Yuuri smiled back, leaning forward a little over the table. Definitely a different appointment to Victor's.  
  
'What are you doing in Detroit, JJ?' Yuuri asked, resting his head on one hand at the table, keeping his gaze looking up from the angle. JJ shifted in his seat, rubbing his hands together in flustered motions.  
  
'A competition. I'm an athlete,' JJ said, grinning. Yuuri had seen that exact grin in one of his half-hearted Google searches. 'World renowned, you know.'  
  
'Impressive.'

'Very. You've probably heard of me,' JJ said, shrugging with a smile. But his shoulders were tensed, raising up just a little higher than they should. Still nervous. Yuuri waved the waiter down, thinking it was time for a distraction.  
  
'I always wanted to be an athlete,' Yuuri said as the waiter brought two menus, placing them down gently as Yuuri also asked for some water for the table. Half-truths were a speciality of Yuuri's. Clients could never tell and Yuuri could always make them sound just that little bit more genuine.  
  
Well, Yuuri thought, there were a little bit more genuine.  
  
'Really? What sport?' JJ asked, interest piqued and making eye-contact with Yuuri again. Yuuri smiled as he opened the menu, already knowing what he'd order. Always best to look the menu up online first and decided before arriving. Yuuri's contacts weren't great, not compared to his glasses. He'd still have to squint at the menu and that was _not_ attractive.  
  
'Fencing,' Yuuri answered and JJ's mouth opened somewhat in surprise.  
  
'Wow, that's- random,' JJ said, before a small blush came onto his face. 'Not saying it's bad or anything! But you know, there are definitely more interesting sports out there.'  
  
Yuuri nodded nonchalantly as he took a sip of his water. JJ was a bit bumbling, but he did it with such boldness it could almost read as on purpose. Yuuri knew people though. He'd gotten enough practice. JJ picked up Yuuri's silence, grin faltering just a little; 'Sorry! I didn't mean- God, you know I'm really not this much of a loser. I''m usually much more confident.'  
  
Yuuri thought of the infamous _King_ _JJ Theme_ that Phichit had showed him when they had looked through the results of their cyber-stalking for the competition for Skate America. Yuuri bit his lip to stop his smile from getting too broad at the knowledge of JJ's competitive persona. Phichit probably wouldn't believe Yuuri when he told him what that information was allowing Yuuri to do now. ( _If_ he told him).  
  
'I believe you,' Yuuri said and he meant it.  
  
After they'd ordered, they made more small talk, JJ becoming more and more self-assured with each topic. He told Yuuri about his tattoos and how he hadn't felt any pain, at all. Yuuri had cooed, impressed. Then JJ went on to describe working with some Canadian band on a power ballad, ( _King JJ_ , Yuuri assumed but didn't say). While JJ was clearly out of his comfort zone, he still spoke loudly and brashly, causing a few people to stare at times. Yuuri wasn't overly fond of him, but that didn't matter. Yuuri wasn't fond of everyone who hired him.  
  
Once the drinks had arrived, Yuuri finally decided to broach the elephant in the room. Or at least, the elephant sitting at the dinner table with them.  
  
'So, JJ,' Yuuri started, taking another sip of water, wine ignored. Yuuri tried to keep his body bent a little over the table, tried to keep looking up at JJ as much as possible. JJ was taller anyway, but Yuuri felt the approach had been working well thus far. 'What are you hoping to do with our time together?'  
  
JJ looked around the restaurant nervously, hands running up and down his thighs. The first break in his tenacity since they'd started. Then JJ reached out and took his own drink, taking a big gulp before putting the glass back down. Yuuri waited, patiently. This wasn't so unusual for first-timers either. Not everyone took to the situation as well as Victor had. Even someone as brash as JJ.  
  
Yuuri felt his neck heat up at the memory of last night, Victor's smile flashing through his memory like a coin.  
  
'I'm not looking to, you know...' JJ said, quiet for the first time since Yuuri arrived, looking like he was forcing himself to meet Yuuri's gaze from across the table. Yuuri felt his eyebrows raise before he could stop them.  
  
'That's okay. It's your time,' Yuuri said, hoping not to sound too flirty. 'We can spend it however you like.'  
  
'It's just- Well, my friend suggested this. And I'm not a coward, you know. I'm not afraid to try things,' JJ said with a bit more certainty in his voice. The JJ Yuuri had witnessed on Youtube was beginning to make an reappearance as JJ asserted exactly what he was looking for. 'I don't want to do anything with you. Just talk. Not saying you're bad looking or anything, but I'm not really a _guy's guy_ , you know?'  
  
Yuuri tried not to let his confusion show as the waiter arrived with their food. Alright, this may be a first. Just talking? Yuuri had definitely done that before. Not often, and usually with a client he'd seen a few times but Yuuri had been to sessions where he and the client would just talk. It was a crucial part for some clients' experiences. But being hired by someone who didn't find him attractive at all for reasons other than talking?  
  
That was a first.  
  
JJ was young and he'd only booked an hour and a half and Yuuri really hadn't expected the whole hour and a half to be lunch despite those things. But by the looks of it though, that was exactly what JJ was looking for. Yuuri mentally patted himself on the back for going with the casual clothing. If he'd shown up _full Eros_ as it were, JJ would probably have demanded a refund and fled. Or broken down. Neither option good.  
  
'If I may ask,' Yuuri said, carefully prodding his salad about on the plate while JJ started on his pasta. 'Why hire me? If you're looking for someone to talk to I'm sure there were other ways you could've gone about it.'  
  
Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut as he heard himself. That was too much. JJ would probably shut down, cut the already short lunch to an abrupt end.  
  
But instead, JJ answered instantly, with humour almost; 'Cheaper than a psychiatrist.'  
  
'Only just,' Yuuri teased, relieved. He took a bite of lettuce, chewing with thought as he watched JJ spool pasta on his fork.  
  
'I didn't want a girl,' JJ said, eyes fixed on his food. Yuuri ate quietly, waiting. JJ swallowed thickly before continuing; 'Talking about this with a girl, it's just- I have a girlfriend. Isabella. She's amazing, the best. Of course she is, I picked her after all. But if I'd booked a girl, even just to talk to about this sort of stuff it'd feel a bit... I don't know.'  
  
'Like you were being unfaithful,' Yuuri suggested and JJ nodded mutely over his food. Yuuri thought he was beginning to get it now. The pieces were coming together. 'Tell me what you're thinking, JJ.'  
  
'I asked her to marry me. Isabella.'  
  
'That is a big commitment, especially at nineteen.'  
  
'It's not that. I want to marry her, a lot. I'd be a hell of a husband, too. But I said I'd only do it if I win the final,' JJ added, looking at Yuuri across the table. Yuuri took a moment but then he realised that JJ meant the Grand Prix Final. Yuuri just caught himself from gaping, elegantly slipping a piece of tomato into his mouth while he mulled that over.  
  
'I see,' Yuuri said slowly, thinking about the situation. 'That's a lot of pressure then. You're obviously very confident, and it sounds like you have good reason to be. But what happens if you don't win?'  
  
'I don't know,' JJ said quietly, almost too quiet for Yuuri to hear over the noise of the restaurant. 'Before, when I competed, it was like I couldn't think of anything else but winning. I'd just think about all those washed up guys ahead me and think, _yeah, I can beat them_. And I did. Like I get into this zone, you know?'  
  
Yuuri was familiar with getting into _zones_ for competitions. But usually it was a zone of complete and utter anxiety, leading to inevtiable, burning failure. Yuuri shuddered involuntarily as the memory of the Grand Prix Final, 2012 hit him like brick.  
  
'But now, before I even get near the ice I start to panic. What if I let Isabella down? What if I don't even make it to the Grand Prix?' JJ continued, eyes wide and blue. Yuuri felt a stab of very genuine sympathy. This was something Yuuri knew _intimately._ Yuuri knew JJ hadn't specified he was a skater, or had explained to Yuuri the nature of his competition, but Yuuri also knew that JJ wasn't paying enough attention to Yuuri really to notice that. Yuuri put his fork down and moved his hand across the table, taking JJ's wrist under his fingers lightly.  
  
'I understand how you feel,' Yuuri said. He gave JJ a light squeeze before moving back to his side of the table, not wanting to push. 'But there are people you can talk to for that. Properly, not just me. Not that this isn't lovely.'  
  
'I- I couldn't risk making an appointment like that,' JJ said, unsurity evident in his voice. 'I'd never get away with it. Going to an office, having that kind of thing on my record. My parents would find out. Reporters, too. And that would just be one hell of a shitshow. I'm pretty famous, you see. But here, with you...'  
  
JJ looked at Yuuri quickly, eyes flitting and Yuuri understood.  
  
'Here, you're just having lunch with someone,' Yuuri said, smile gentle. JJ nodded. Yuuri thought carefully about what he wanted to say, but really, he'd already decided.  
  
'Just cash. And then nothing,' JJ said, taking an awkward bite of pasta. Some sauce got on his chin. 'My friend had done it before. I was feeling a bit down about it all and it just seemed like a good idea.'  
  
'Well, then,' Yuuri said, taking his fork back up and motioning to JJ with it. 'Tell me all about you.'  
  
They spent over the hour and a half, just. And Yuuri knew he should've been strict, his watch beeping almost ten minutes ago. But Yuuri was going to wait for lunch to end. It broke his rules, but Yuuri couldn't help it. Listening to JJ, this next generation skater as it were, talk about the crippling pressure skating gave was almost like Yuuri was stepping back in time. Stepping back to himself, telling himself all the things he knew now. Yuuri did wish JJ the best. Wished for JJ not to let the nerves hold him back.  
  
But Yuuri also knew that JJ was competing against some of the highest quality skaters this season, Victor Nikiforov just to name one. Phichit another. Yuuri was worried for what the future held for JJ. A gold medal at the Grand Prix was an ambitious thing to aim for, even if you didn't have Victor Nikiforov's enormous shadow looming in front of you. Betting a marriage on getting one?  
  
Yuuri wouldn't do it.  
  
After their plates had been cleared, Yuuri moved his glass around the table, just for something to focus on before the appointment ended. Yuuri really couldn't grant anymore time. He had another client at six. Then he spoke, carefully and sincerely.  
  
'I'm flattered you chose me, JJ. And I've had a really wonderful time. But going forward, you probably should consider other options.' Yuuri gave JJ what he hoped was a kind smile as JJ furrowed his brow across the table. 'The service you're looking for isn't really what I offer.'  
  
JJ said nothing, but his face cleared with understanding. He reached his hand out across the table, face sure; 'Thank you. For today. Shame you can't brag about meeting me.'  
  
Yuuri took his hand, shaking it firmly; 'It was my pleasure. And don't worry, it'll be my special secret.'  
  
'Can I just ask you something? Before you leave?' JJ said, tone a little uneven, like he couldn't decide whether to be nervous or not. Yuuri tilted his head, something his old ballet instructor used to do. Reminded him of her.   
  
'Of course.'  
  
'Do you ever get nervous? Doing this job? You must get some real crazies,' JJ said, accent twinging in his mouth like it was bent the wrong way from American. Yuuri thought about his answer for a moment.  
  
'All the time,' Yuuri said, not strictly speaking lying. JJ smiled, teeth very white.  
  
'What helps?'  
  
Yuuri thought suddenly of blue eyes and a thin nose. He remembered the way it felt to have Victor Nikiforov kiss him, to hear the Russian he spoke right in his ear. He remembered how Victor had held him, carried him. How Victor had pinned Yuuri to the door, mouth open and lust liquid in his eyes. Yuuri moved his chair, dull ache crawling up his back from where Victor had fucked him.  
  
He knew he should say _the money._ That's what this conversation needed; banter, a bit of humour. JJ was really more of a lighthearted person. But all Yuuri could think about now as the evening ahead. Imagining how Victor might look, where they might go. If they even _went_ anywhere.  
  
Yuuri smiled, unable to stop himself.  
  
'The same thing that helps you,' Yuuri said, JJ watching him carefully. Yuuri stood up to leave, straightening his cardigan. 'The right person.'

* * *

  
Yuuri fidgeted with the stem of his glass while he sat in the Motor Bar, at the Westin Cadillac. It was still early in the evening, only a few people around. The bartender caught Yuuri's eye, the same one from the night before. He gave Yuuri a slight nod and Yuuri nodded back. Yuuri always got on well with hotel staff. They always knew and Yuuri _always_ tipped. Generously.

Yuuri checked his watch, drink almost finished. Five forty. 

'I always loved that colour on you, _mon ange_ ,' a voice said and Yuuri smiled before he could help himself.

'I see your tastes haven't changed,' Yuuri flirted, turning in his stool to face Chris Giacometti.

Chris looked lovely, as always. Hair styled well and wearing a tidy grey sweater that made his eyes look a deeper brown. He took a seat next to Yuuri, waving down the bartender.

Yuuri sat back in his chair, comfortable. Yuuri had rather thought he might not get the chance to see Chris at all this year, given everything he'd heard. It was a nice turn of events to meet him now. Though he shouldn't be all that surprised, now that he thought about it. All the guest skaters were staying in the Westin. Yuuri had never had to worry about running into anyone before though. Chris had been the only one looking for him then.

'Here for business, or pleasure? Always get those mixed up, you do,' Chris said, eyes shining with mischief. How true to character, Yuuri thought with a smile. The bartender came over, flashing Yuuri a look as he dropped Chris' glass of wine down.

'Funny,' Yuuri said, watching the bartender before looking back to Chris. Chris beamed over his glass of wine. Red, typical Swiss. 'You're funny.'

'I've many talents, _mon ange.'_

'Oh, don't I know it.'

'Seeing anyone I might know?' Chris asked casually, but Yuuri knew him better than that. He knew Chris was asking about Victor.

Well, Yuuri wasn't seeing Victor til nine. A whole three hours between now and then. Not that Yuuri was counting. Yuuri still regretted his choice of shirt though, despite Chris' compliments for it. If he blushed, the deep wine satin would just heighten it.

'I think I'm more popular than you give me credit for,' Yuuri said, hoping to sound enigmatic but when he caught Chris' eye, they both laughed anyway.

'I believe you,' Chris said, taking a sip of wine. Chris moved on his seat slightly, before speaking again. 'So, how are you? Last we met you were saving for a new place. Take the plunge yet?'

'Just moved in yesterday, actually. It's quite the house, outside of the city. You'd be impressed,' Yuuri said, shrugging his shoulders. Chris raised an eyebrow, all humour.

'Do I get a say in decoration? I feel that'd be only fair, seeing as I paid for your deposit by default.'

'Oh, sorry. It's right there in the fine print,' Yuuri said, putting a finger down onto the bar like he was pointing something out on an imaginary contract. 'No opinions once I'm off the clock. Your money is forfeit.'

'Ah, what a scam,' Chris joked back. The conversation was easy and fluid, like it always was with Chris. Yuuri kept one eye on his watch, but he still had a bit of time. The benefits of booking a room for himself for the night, even if he wasn't staying. He could get ready here at the Westin for both appointments.

'So,' Chris said at length and Yuuri knew what was coming. Yuuri glanced at Chris, trying to appear aloof. 'What did you think of my friend?'

'Your friend?' Yuuri replied, trying for blasé but hearing the excitement himself in his voice. 'You mean Victor? Victor _Nikiforov?_ Five time World Championship winner Victor Nikiforov?'

Chris only smiled and then they both laughed.

'You could've warned me,' Yuuri said. Chris shrugged, looking incredibly happy with himself.

'You deserved a surprise,' he said, eyebrows wiggling. 'Besides, I heard you got on just fine.'

'He talked about me?' Yuuri asked and then kicked himself, because he was supposed to be a professional and that sounded suspiciously like something a teenager with a crush would say.

And yes, alright. Maybe Yuuri actually _had_ been that teenager with a crush. But he was twenty-three now, for goodness sake.

'I hope he treated you well,' Chris said genuinely, putting his glass down. 'It was very difficult for me to give you up, you know.'

'I should hope so,' Yuuri teased, glancing at his watch again but thinking entirely of Victor's voice and how it had sounded. Yuuri breathed in deeply through his nose, memory stark. 'Victor was... amazing.'

Chris cooed; 'Should I be jealous?'

'I'm not sure, how's your choreographer?' Yuuri joked right back. Chris laughed, a deep throaty sound that even now, after all this time, made Yuuri's heart skip a beat. 'Quite the mystery man you've got for yourself. No amount of Googling on my part could turn anything substantial up.'

'Aw, checking up on me, _mon ange?'_ Chris replied. He watched Yuuri carefully for a few moments, hazel eyes searching. Yuuri squirmed marginally under the scrutiny. 'Victor has- well, one might say _il a eu un coup de foudre._ Though maybe that's a bit old-fashioned.'

Yuuri had never bothered to learn any French, so he just waited while Chris chewed a bit on his bottom lip. Yuuri was sure he'd never seen Chris hesitate before.

'I mean to say, Victor seems quite smitten.'

'Oh?' Yuuri said, aiming for disinterested, missing entirely and landing somewhere in the vicinity of very much interested.

'Hmm,' Chris hummed, obviously picking up on Yuuri's tone. Yuuri looked away at the bottles behind the bar, very determined not to blush. 'How could he not be? You're wonderful.'

Yuuri felt like there was a _but_ coming.

'Victor can be quite- whimsical,' Chris paused and though he said nothing else, Yuuri was getting an idea of where this was heading. But Yuuri didn't want to hope too much.

It was one thing getting paid to sleep with Victor Nikiforov and being _very_ excited about it. Quite another to even entertain the thought that Victor Nikiforov would like Yuuri as anything other than that.

Yuuri thought of Victor's smile, the way he danced like he skated- with everything he had, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He thought of how impulsive Victor was. How he'd just granted Yuuri free reign for the night, letting himself be led by a stranger to another stranger's party. How he'd let Yuuri push him down onto the mattress, like the great and talented Victor Nikiforov couldn't stop it. Like he'd wanted it.

Before Yuuri could answer, the bartender interrupted. He put a hand between Yuuri and Chris on the bar, dragging Yuuri's gaze to him.

'Sorry, sir. But there's a call for you at reception,' the bartender said, mouth twitching somewhat into an almost-smile. Yuuri thanked him softly, turning back to Chris as the bartender walked away.

'Duty calls,' Chris said, but he sounded a bit sad about it. Yuuri smiled at him, reaching over and touching his face. The stubble was a bit rough beneath his finger tips.

'It was good to see you, Chris.'

'You, too.'

 

* * *

 

  
The door to the king room opened, revealing Robert. Yuuri smiled, taking the hand that was offered to him and slipping inside.

Robert was in law. One of the bigger firms in the central city, but Yuuri had always been careful not to listen too carefully. He'd been booking Yuuri routinely for just over a year now, once or twice a month. Sometimes more. He was charming, if a little arrogant. Always paid cash. In his fifties, with silver laced dark hair and deep brown eyes underneath thick eyebrows. Robert was in great shape for his age, something Yuuri always took selfish delight in when Robert used that to his advantage.

Such as now.

' _Eros_.'

Robert growled the name into the back of Yuuri's neck, thrusting slowly and deeply. Yuuri moaned into the pillow, back arching up to meet Robert's movements. Robert had Yuuri face down on the exceptionally large bed, (bigger than the standard room gifted to skaters), one large hand on Yuuri's hip and the other holding Yuuri's hands together above his head as Robert drove into him, heat building between them along Yuuri's back. Hips snapping forward, just grazing Yuuri _right_ where he needed to be hit and Yuuri whined, loud and lewd.

'God, I missed this,' Robert said and Yuuri grinned into the pillow.

After, Robert stepped out of the en suite after his shower, coming around the corner back into the main room with a look of pure self-satisfaction on his face as he did. Yuuri shook his head from the bed, laughing quietly.

'You look pleased with yourself.'

'I know I pay you, kid. But there's something about having you all spread out on the bed like that. Makes me feel like a young man again,' Robert said, rubbing a towel over his head. Yuuri felt what could've been a blush, but he was still too warm from all the excursions to care that much about it, even if he was wearing nothing but the sheet they'd managed to dislodge between them.

'I'm a luxury, what can I say?' Yuuri replied, moving to get out of the bed but Robert crossed over the room quickly, crawling onto the bed and getting in Yuuri's way of doing just that. Yuuri smiled up at him. 'You didn't make me scream though. So maybe your old age is finally catching up.'

'Why you gotta be like that?' Robert said, smiling with his very white teeth and damp hair still dripping just a little. Yuuri wiggled under the drops that hit him, skin prickling like an itch at the cold of them. Robert leant down and kissed him, Yuuri opening his mouth to accommodate the warm tongue that slipped in. He moaned, softly from the back of his throat. Robert liked that.

'You trying to kill me here, kid?'

'Depends. Do I still get my retainer?'

'Cheeky.'

Robert pushed Yuuri further into the bed, body getting all tangled up in the sheets. Yuuri pressed his hands against Robert's hairy chest lightly, trying to sound stern; 'I need to shower. I'm disgusting.'

'No, you're not. You're gorgeous. That's the problem,' Robert said, kissing Yuuri again. 'Stay there, I got you something.'

Yuuri raised an eyebrow as Robert got up, moving over to the chairs by the door where his bags were. He had a selection of large, expensive leather luggage. Robert traveled a lot for work, not even being a Detroit native himself. Not that Yuuri could comment on that. Robert's family were back in Baltimore, or so he told Yuuri. None of that really mattered to what they did together though.

Robert sauntered back towards the bed, grin still wide and towel riding low on his broad hips, small bag in his hand. He was a very different man to the one Yuuri had been with just the night before. The man he'd be with again in just over an hour and half. Not that Yuuri was thinking about it, because he wasn't. No, Yuuri was entirely focused on the job at hand. It would be unprofessional to be otherwise.

Yuuri glanced over to his watch, where it sat on the bedside table.

No. Definitely not thinking about it.

Robert sat back down on the bed, handing the small bag over. Yuuri sat up as he took the bag, glancing over towards Robert as he opened it. When he spotted what was inside, Yuuri giggled a little. Robert really was something. Yuuri thought he'd only mentioned it once and yet Robert had remembered. He pulled it out, giving Robert a mock-frown.

'I'm going to need my glasses for this.'

'My clever plot is revealed,' Robert said, lying down as Yuuri turned the small snow globe over in his hand, squinting at the small figures inside and the city name he couldn't read. 'You look cute in your glasses.'

'Ah, yes. Cute. That's exactly what I aim for,' Yuuri said, but he was stretching out over the bed anyway, down for his trousers where his glasses were safely pocketed in a felt case. Yuuri never wore contacts for Robert, not after Robert had specifically requested glasses once. After awkwardly scrambling, Yuuri came back onto the bed, blue-framed glasses on. 'Happy now?'

'Abso-fucking-lutely.'

Yuuri grimaced at the swearing. Even after all this time, Americans and their discourtesy still got to him. Yuuri took a closer look at the snow-globe. _Toronto,_ the small yellow writing said and the figures inside were ice-skaters in coats of varied colours. It was very cute. Yuuri had told Robert once that he always liked snow-globes, that his family collected them.

It wasn't strictly speaking true. Yuuri had no strong opinions on snow-globes and his family didn't collect them. But they did sell them back in the _onsen_ , the bath house inn they owned. Half-truths.

Yuuri was still touched though. Robert didn't know any of that, after all. Only what Yuuri had told him.

'I love it,' Yuuri said, shaking the globe and watching the fake snow, smiling at the tiny skaters. 'Thank you.'

'You're welcome, kid,' Robert said, giving Yuuri another deep kiss before he got up from the bed. 'Saw it in the airport. Four dollars. So you better appreciate it.'

'Oh, I do,' Yuuri said, watching Robert pull clothes from one of his bags and start getting dressed. Just as Robert buttoned the top of his trousers, Yuuri's watched beeped. Yuuri reached over, turning off the alarm and finally disentangling himself from the bed.

Yuuri just gathered his clothes from the floor, deciding to freshen up in his own hotel room. He didn't want to be late for next appointment. He tied his watch before slipping his discarded shirt back on. After he'd buttoned his own slacks, Yuuri reached for the small black satchel he'd brought with him to put the snow globe inside. Condoms, lube, hygeine wipes and most importantly, the envelope.

Once he was somewhat presentable, Yuuri gave himself a quick once over in the mirror. He was still quite dishevelled, but at least he wouldn't have far to go. Only down two floors. The glasses helped make him look kind of more like a put together person, so that was something. Unfortunately, wearing the glasses made him look strikingly like himself.

Which was _bad_ as it was really interrupting Yuuri's plan of not being himself.

Yuuri took a shaky breath, straightening his hopelessly wrinkled shirt. His head suddenly felt far too full, memories of Phichit and the morning swirling around, buzzing like an angry hive of something. Yuuri tightened his grip on the satchel, forcing himself to smile as he headed towards the door past Robert. If Robert noticed anything, he didn't show it.

'I'll catch you later then,' Robert said, reaching out while his own shirt was still unbuttoned over his pants. He took Yuuri's hand, stopping him just as he went to unlock the door. Yuuri smiled, pressing a quick kiss to Robert's lips. They were a little chapped. Yuuri hadn't noticed before.

'You know where to find me,' Yuuri said, slipping his hand out of Robert's grip and heading out into the hall.

In the lift, Yuuri fished his phone of the satchel. He always brought both, personal one hidden in a special pocket of the lining, just in case something were to happen to his professional. No new messages. Yuuri wasn't really expecting any, to be fair. But his heart still sank at the sight. Phichit was probably home by now. Back in their new apartment. Yuuri wondered if he'd unpacked anything.

The lift pinged and Yuuri was suddenly brought back to what he was doing, not realising how much he had spaced out until the doors opened.

As Yuuri made his way down the hall towards his own room to get ready for his next appointment, Yuuri's heart began to speed up at the knowledge of who his next client was. Yuuri had never even gotten the chance to tell Phichit. He wondered if Phichit would even believe him.

Yuuri wouldn't. After all, there was your dreams coming true. But getting paid to have your dreams come true?

Yuuri wasn't sure he even believed it himself.

 

* * *

 

The hotel lobby was golden and bustling with people. Mostly skaters and their associates, now that Victor looked a bit more closely. A few nodded in acknowledgement towards Victor as he walked towards the bar. Victor was early, he knew that. But he was too excited to wait upstairs, instead deciding to come down ten minutes early and see if he could spot Eros walking in. He threw on some grey trousers and a white shirt, long brown coat over. 

Turned out he wasn't the only early one.

Eros was standing by the entrance into the bar. He was radiant, obviously.

That was his job, Victor supposed. Eros was dressed neatly; pressed trousers and a pale blue peacoat. He also had a deep red scarf over the lapels and hiding Eros' pretty neck. Hair combed back, like before and his face turned towards the bar. Victor also spotted that Eros had a small, black gear bag slung over his shoulder; he'd listened to Victor's request.

Victor couldn't stop the smile that started to spread as he walked over towards Eros. He looked quite feminine, framed by the pillars of the lobby and his waist tucked in, legs long. The memory of the night before hit Victor vividly as he approached, remembering pushing Eros down on the bed and the look in Eros' gorgeous, brown eyes. He remembered how Eros had prepared in advance and the thought had Victor frozen mid-step.

The lust coiled inside him like something magnetic; twisting and so hot as it pulled something deep up in Victor. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. But the thought, mad as it was, arose unbidden as Victor imagined stealing Eros down the hall to some small, secluded place. He imagined pressing Eros up against a wall. Wondered if he could drag Eros' accent out again, if he could get Eros to beg in it-

'Victor,' a voice said, somewhat breathless and all perfect.

Victor opened his eyes to see Eros stepping over towards him. His movements were fluid, hips swaying. Victor tried not to stare and failed miserably. So distracting, Victor thought fondly.

Eros smiled up at him, eyes very bright and warm. Like candlelight. They brought Victor back to the moment, back to his goal for the evening.

Victor had a plan. Something he sincerely hoped Eros wouldn't be expecting. Maybe even something Eros hadn't done before. Victor so badly wanted to surprise him. But first-

'You're early,' Victor said, loving the way Eros' eyebrows would come together when he heard the accent. Victor had never been more aware of it than now. Eros smiled, blushing just a little.

'I like to be on time,' he said softly, eyes moving from Victor's face as his blush deepened, pale pink to flushed. It was endearing and Victor hoped very much that Eros wasn't doing it on purpose.

'Eager,' Victor teased, hoping to make Eros more embarrassed if he continued to get such great responses. Going by the way Eros bit his bottom lip just a little, it worked. Victor grinned; 'Let's go.'

'So, what are you hoping to do tonight?' Eros asked, linking his arm with Victor's as they walked out into the street from the hotel. He sounded slightly more confident now they weren't looking at each other.

The doorman nodded to them as they walked out and Victor saw him eye their linked arms. Victor puffed out his chest, happy with how they looked. Happy that people would assume they were dating.

'I'm taking you to dinner,' Victor said, giving Eros a bright smile as they walked along. 'After that, it's a surprise.'

Eros raised a dark eyebrow at him, brown eyes sparkling; 'The gym gear is for that, I assume. Should I be suspicious?'

'Absolutely not.'

As they walked, Victor tried to break Eros out of the flirtatious loop he had the conversation in. Not that Victor didn't enjoy flirting with Eros, because he most certainly did. But the references and the teases just reminded Victor of how Eros' chest would shudder, how the blush he so admired spread all the way down it. The look on Eros' face as he had sunk down onto Victor just last night, moaning beautifully.

Victor pinched himself through the pocket of his coat, trying to be a discreet.

It was very distracting, but Victor was determined not to let Eros steer the evening with his sensuality. Tempting, as it was. Victor had never met anyone as captivating before, but he'd also hadn't met someone in quite a long time that managed to surprise him.

Eros didn't care, or even know, that Victor was famous. The surprise of that alone might've been enough but then Eros himself proved to have such depths. His dancing was so impressive, so indicative of skill and passion. Victor wanted to know when Eros had learned, why he had chosen dancing.

But it was Eros' demure nature despite the profession that was really pulling Victor in. Victor wanted to see more of that man, wanted to surprise Eros in ways no one had before, like Eros had done for him. Victor wanted to _know_ him. Or at least, he wanted to be given the chance.

And Victor couldn't do that if all he could focus on was how good it felt to fuck him.

Which it did, mind.  _Really good._

Victor steered the conversation off the innuendo, (which was difficult, especially for him), going for a more traditional date route.

'So, last night,' Victor started, watching Eros out of the corner of his eye. Eros' nose turned the smallest bit pink in a way that could not be blamed on the cold. Eros ignored it and gave Victor a slanted look, smile coy.

'Yes?'

'Your friend at the door mentioned you weren't American,' Victor said and Eros narrowed his eyes at him, face thoughful. Victor continued; 'So, my next question is, where are you from?'

'Kyoto. In Japan,' Eros answered instantly, smiling at Victor as they turned the corner at the end of the street.

Victor caught himself before he frowned, confused. He was sure Chris had said Tokyo. Victor shook it off. Tokyo and Kyoto sounded similar enough. Chris had likely just made a mistake. Victor started to slow down as they approached their destination.

'I assumed as such,' Victor said, unlinking their arms and stopping with a flourish outside the Japanese sushi restaurant he had picked. Eros' eyes grew wide, suprise evident. Victor was thrilled.

'I-uh, wow,' Eros said, voice stuttering a little. He sounded very different from the man who had flirted so confidently with Victor before. It lit a fire in Victor, blooming warmth that he could break through the persona somehow. Then it slipped back, Eros' face shifting into a smirk. He gave Victor a look.

'You assumed I was Japanese. So you've brought me to a Japanese restaurant.'

Victor nodded, triumphant. Eros laughed, tone definitely teasing. Victor felt a bit wrong-footed, not entirely sure why Eros was laughing. Eros tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat, smiling with his teeth.

'Shall I order you vodka at the bar? You know, because you're Russian,' Eros said, amusement in his voice. Victor cottoned on, at last. He laughed at himself, understanding dawning.

'Ah. I may not have thought it through, exactly,' Victor replied, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Eros only smiled at Victor, shaking his head slightly. Victor chuckled; 'I don't even like vodka.'

'And I don't like sushi,' Eros said, eyes shining with his smile but Victor groaned in disappointment anyway. 'Guess we're even.'

'This is not going to plan,' Victor muttered, admitting defeat as Eros linked his arm again, taking him down the street.

'It wasn't a bad plan,' Eros joked, but he patted Victor's arm soothingly. 'You wouldn't be the first person to think of it.'

If anything, that only made Victor feel even worse. He felt like an idiot.

Eros had been an escort for at least four years, going by what Chris had said. Of course someone would've figured out he was Japanese and thought of this. He likely told them himself if they had asked, just as he had with Chris and Victor. Victor hung his head in defeat. Eros seemed to notice, as he leant up and kissed Victor's cheek.

'Thank you. It was a lovely thought,' Eros said and it sounded like a line he'd used before but Victor appreciated it anyway. Then Eros looked out across the street, smile a bit softer as he watched the traffic pass. 'I haven't found anywhere that makes food as good as home. I try to cook my own, when I get the time. But it's nothing compared to my Mom's.'

There was something about Eros' use of the word _mom_ that stirred something in Victor. That didn't sound rehearsed. Victor took the information with a smile, fondly imagining Eros standing in a kitchen cooking. In Victor's head, he pictured his own kitchen. It wasn't as bizarre as he thought it should be.

'What do you cook?' Victor asked, hoping Eros wouldn't back out of the conversation.

'Oh, nothing too exciting,' he said and Victor was worried it was a dismissal. But then Eros turned back to face him, all excitement. 'Every now and then I attempt _Katsudon_. That's my Mom's speciality. I can never seem to get it right though. Always burn the _panko_.'

Victor had no idea what some of those words were, but he wanted to hear more.

'What's cats-down?'

' _Katsudon?'_ Eros corrected gently, his accent sounding so natural with the word. 'It's a pork dish. Pork-cutlet, deep fried and served in a rice bowl. It's wonderful. Have you never had it?'

'Never.'

'You're missing out,' Eros said and Victor was disappointed that Eros didn't suggest he make it for them. Which was crazy and Victor shook his head like he might shake the thought from his mind.

'Where are we going?' Victor said instead, looking around the street that Eros was walking him down.

'There's a Thai place down here that's really nice. I don't get to go too often. A friend of mine is very snobby about Thai food and he doesn't approve,' Eros said as they approached a restaurant that was wafting the most delicious smells down the road.

'Then allow me to indulge you,' Victor said as they came to the door, letting go of Eros just so he could hold the door open for him.

Eros smiled and it was beautiful. He's beautiful, Victor thought as they walked in.

 

* * *

 

Victor was wonderful.

He was so effortlessly charming, smile easy and accent exotic. Everything one would want in a date. Victor obviously knew it, too. Probably had a lot of practice, Yuuri thought, half-remembered articles from the numerous gossip wesbites coming to mind. But Yuuri couldn't help himself for enjoying every moment of it. They were at a small table in the Thai place Phichit had sworn off as apparently their green curry was _'practically just coconut milk with some green beans thrown in'._ (Yuuri thought it was nice, not that he could ever say).

Yuuri was sure that Phichit didn't want hear him say much of anything anytime soon anyway.  
  
Victor hadn't really touched his food through dinner, instead being too busy telling Yuuri- well, everything. He talked about how he was a figure skater, (which of course Yuuri knew), about how he was competing with Chris and skating was how they knew each other, about how everyone complained about the cold in Detroit and how they would never survive the Russian winters. Victor talked with his hands, long fingers weaving through the low light of the restaurant as he demonstrated. Sometimes he spoke so fast that Yuuri couldn't understand him, his accent so thick.  
  
But Yuuri couldn't look away, half-afraid the floor would fall out from under him at any moment. He was having dinner with Victor Nikiforov. It was like a running mantra of mania going over and over in his head.  
  
Was this even happening? Was he dreaming?  
  
Victor Nikiforov was a legend in figure skating. Since Yuuri was twelve he'd done everything he could to try and emulate him. Imitating him for years, finally meeting him at the Grand Prix all those years ago. That hadn't really gone to plan. Yuuri never thought for a second that Victor would ever have any interest in him.  
  
Except, he didn't really, a niggling voice in Yuuri's head suggested. Victor was interested in Eros, not Katsuki Yuuri.  
  
'Now, then,' Victor said, voice going a bit low as he finished a story about his coach. (Yakov Feltsman, Yuuri knew but couldn't say). 'I feel I've been talking far too much. Tell me about you.'  
  
Yuuri took a small bite of the last of his coconut rice as Victor said it, wondering how to reply. Talking with Victor was dangerously easy, as it turned out. Yuuri had already been more personal than he had with any other client in just their brief discussion of his mother's home cooking. More personal in that Yuuri had been honest. Truly honest. Yuuri had always wanted to know Victor so badly and some silly, hopeful part of Yuuri wanted Victor to know him, too.  
  
But that was out of the question. Yuuri couldn't start breaking the rules now. He'd have to be careful.  
  
Yuuri swallowed, putting his fork down and instead pulling at the collar of the white shirt he was wearing under the matching waistcoat to his trousers. His heart skipped a few beats when he saw Victor's eyes dip, watching the movement. Yuuri smiled.  
  
'What would you like to know?'  
  
'I want to know everything about you,' Victor said, eyes shooting back up to meet Yuuri's gaze. Even in the restaurant's poor lighting, Victor's eyes were luminous. Blue so alien, even for all the blue eyes Yuuri had met over the years.  
  
Yuuri blinked, his teasing of the shirt pausing at Victor's words.  
  
'E-everything?'  
  
'Everything,' Victor said enthusiastically, bouncing a little in his seat as he suddenly leaned across the table. Victor's fingers, which Yuuri had been admiring, slid beneath Yuuri's chin, tilting his head up. It was so personal and Yuuri felt his heart stop at the contact, unable to look away from Victor's sultry look. 'Like what kind of dance you've learned And what hobbies do you have? If there's a girl you like.'  
  
The last part came out very low, almost a growl. Yuuri took a breath, chest stammering under his clothes as Victor's eyes darkened. Blue turning colour over, like petrol.

That was all a bit- forward. Was Victor like this with everyone?  
  
'Let's get to know each other,' Victor said, almost whispering now as his other hand came up to take Yuuri's wrist from where it lay on the table. Victor laced their fingers together, just like he had at the bar the night before. Yuuri wished he had his glasses, not just the contacts. He wished he could see Victor's face bit clearer, understand just a bit better what was happening here.  
  
Because all Yuuri felt like right now was that he was falling with no one to catch him.  
  
'A relationship like this should be built on trust, don't you think?'  
  
Relationship. Right, the client-escort relationship. Because Yuuri was a professional and Victor had hired him for a specific purpose.  
  
Coming back to himself a little, Yuuri gave a practiced grin, turning his face so Victor's hand trailed up Yuuri's cheek. Yuuri pressed his lips to Victor's fingers, watching him through his lashes. _Eros!_ Yuuri reminded himself strictly. _I know who I'm doing this dance for. I'm going to seduce the playboy._  
  
(Again).  
  
'I like to think we got to know each other pretty well last night,' Yuuri said, echoing Victor's low tone. Yuuri thought he saw Victor shudder slightly, giving in to Yuuri's pull. Yuuri smiled, teeth bared. He moved under the table, ghosting a foot up along the inside of Victor's leg.  
  
'Unless, of course, you've forgotten.'  
  
'How could I forget such a thing?' Victor said, almost sounding like he was truly offended that Yuuri would even suggest it. Victor's grip on Yuuri's hand tightened and Yuuri felt his heart quicken, like it was trying to catch up with all the beats it'd missed in the wake of how sexy Victor was. Victor slipped a finger down Yuuri's cheek, back under his chin. 'Are you finished?'  
  
'Yes,' Yuuri breathed, knowing he sounded too eager and not at all sorry about it.  
  
'Good.'  
  
Victor flagged them a taxi from outside the restaurant. Even to strangers, Victor's magnetism apparently knew no bounds. Victor held Yuuri's hand as he helped him into the taxi, waiting for Yuuri to be seated before closing the door and walking around to the other side. There was something so sweet in that, about Victor not making Yuuri shove across the seat. It made Yuuri's stomach twist in a very pleasant way.

Once Victor was sitting next to him, all Yuuri could focus on was Victor's hand as it sat on Yuuri's knee. Victor moved it slowly up and down Yuuri's leg, fingers flirting with the inside of Yuuri's thigh but never commiting, instead moving in slow circles. Working Yuuri up. Yuuri kept his own hands folded on his lap, truly afraid with what he might do if he was to touch Victor. Yuuri knew he was an escort and that people had certain opinions on that- but fooling around in a taxi was very much a line Yuuri tried not to cross.

Not that Victor was helping in that resolve at all, as his fingers suddenly slid up Yuuri's inside thigh with purpose, teasing over the curve of Yuuri's fly.

Yuuri gasped before he could stop himself, desire spiking hot and then blushed hideously, he could feel it. Victor smiled at him, the edge of it like something sharp. Eyes dark with knowing and want. Yuuri sank back further into the seat, embarrassed at his lack of control, as Victor's hand moved up and across Yuuri's waist, pinching him a little. Victor pressed up against him until there was no space left between them, his beautiful face slipping to the small space of exposed skin between Yuuri's jaw and his scarf. Yuuri could feel his hot breath, leaving goosebumps.

Finding Eros was turning out to be surprisingly difficult.

All of such being what Yuuri would later blame for him not noticing that the taxi hadn't taken them back to the hotel. He'd been too focused on trying to maintain the persona, the feel of Victor's lips against his neck and the slow roll of Victor's hands against his clothes. When the taxi rolled to a stop, Yuuri almost whined with disappointment when Victor pulled away, painfully slowly.

Victor paid the driver quickly and was out his side of the cab before Yuuri could even register properly. Yuuri took a few steadying breaths, looking out the window, which was fogged up with condensation so he couldn't see much. Then, the door opened, revealing a very excited looking Victor Nikiforov as he helped Yuuri out of the car.

'I wonder, are you always so easily distracted?' Victor asked as he pulled Yuuri up and out into his arms, holding Yuuri around the waist like he might try and run off on him.

Yuuri laughed, breath billowing whitely between them in the cool night air.

'Not usually. Looks like you're just special,' Yuuri said truthfully.

Victor's eyes brightened and his smile made his whole face look like it was lit up from the inside out. It made something in Yuuri melt. He leant forward and Yuuri really wanted to kiss him. But Victor stopped right before their lips met, anticipation electric in Yuuri.

'Good,' Victor said heavily, sounding so foreign that a shiver ran down Yuuri's spine. 'Let's see if you can keep your balance even with me distracting you then.'

Yuuri wasn't sure what to say to that, not really understanding, but then Victor stepped away from him, leading Yuuri by the hand. When Yuuri made himself look past Victor to see where they were, his blood turned to lead in his veins. He froze, stomach dropping and mouth opening in shock.

It couldn't be. Victor couldn't _know_ , could he?

Yuuri was panicking, he was sure. Though it was cold, Yuuri could feel sweat begin to pool on his lower back, on his hands. Heart pounding, head spinning as Yuuri tried desperately to think of a solution. A handy excuse, a suitable explanation. But Yuuri could do nothing but stare. Stare up at the entrance to the competitive rink, the host for Skate America, as Victor led him blindly forward into it.

Yuuri thought he might die. Victor wouldn't bring him here unless-

Whipping his hand out of Victor's grip, Yuuri stood rooted to the spot. Victor paused ahead of him, calling out Eros' name, first with humour and then again with some concern. Yuuri pulled his hands to his chest, unable to tear his eyes from the large, imposing building.

He couldn't believe it. _Victor knew._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> il a eu un coup de foudre - he has a strike of lightning (phrase for being like struck with love)
> 
> Everyone is so worried about the blackmail tag. Like damn. You guys need some serious fluff next chapter.


	5. Spin Me Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Yuuri is a massive dork. And also realises that Victor's a bit mental.

'Eros?'

Yuuri gripped the ends of his scarf, unsure what to do with his hands. He took a step back, eyes fixed on the rolling screen advertising Skate America for the next day. Only the outside lights were on, the rest of the centre in black darkness. It was so late, after ten, surely they weren't even open? Yuuri couldn't focus, thoughts spiraling at speed. But nothing was getting through, except the one, rotating fact that Victor Nikiforov had brought him fucking ice skating.

Did Victor know? He must know? Was it all a game, this whole time?!

'Eros!'

Suddenly, there were two hands on his face, one on each side and fingers warm. Yuuri looked away from the centre, eyes tumbling down to meet Victor's gaze. Worry was written all over his face, pulled together in his eyebrows and trembling in his blue eyes. Yuuri hadn't realised he was breathing so heavily until he was faced with how close Victor and he were. A few centimetres apart. Yuuri could see a spread of freckles across Victor's nose, just under his eyes. Yuuri had never noticed, never known they were there.

Yuuri found himself concentrating on those freckles, almost counting them.

'Eros, I'm sorry,' Victor was saying, words slowly beginning to register to Yuuri as his breathing began to even out. 'It never crossed my mind how this would look.'

'I-ah,' Yuuri hesitated, confused.

'I promise I'm not going to hurt you,' Victor said sternly, hands moving down Yuuri's neck and then away. Yuuri missed the warmth of them instantly. 'You don't have to come in with me, if you don't want to. I can take you back to the hotel.'

Yuuri blinked, once then twice before the panic that had been sitting so heavy in him lightened slightly. Uncoiling itself, like wire, deep inside and relieving the pressure. Yuuri began to understand Victor's meaning, slowly. Victor thought Yuuri was _afraid;_ afraid to be somewhere so strange and obviously empty. Afraid to be so alone with Victor. Yuuri gasped softly, surprising even himself, at the realisation.

Victor... didn't know.

 _Of course_ Victor didn't know, was Yuuri insane? That had been four years ago! Yuuri had just turned twenty, he had been a completely different person then. He'd just barely broken into the skating sphere at the time, only to fall out of it completely with an abysmal free-skate that single-handedly ended his career. Victor hadn't known Yuuri then, when he'd been on the ice a mere half hour before him. Yuuri was so stupid to think Victor would know him now.

This must've been the surprise Victor had planned. Ice skating. He was Victor Nikiforov, it made perfect sense that he'd use ice skating as a means to seduce. He'd probably brought a hundred other people on this exact date. Yuuri tried to calm himself.

'N-no. No. I'm sorry,' Yuuri stammered, hands still shaking as he reached out towards Victor who had taken a step back from him. Victor looked confused now, his mouth opening but Yuuri beat him to it, repeating himself; 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I was just-'

What, exactly?

'Confused?' Yuuri finished, lamely. It hadn't meant to sound like a question either.

Victor came close again, stepping up to meet Yuuri's hands so they pressed against his chest. Victor took Yuuri's waist, squeezing slightly. _God, he must think I'm crazy,_ Yuuri thought as he tried desperately to think of a way to rectify the situation. If he didn't, Victor would surely cancel tomorrow night, if he didn't also end tonight early due to Yuuri's complete breakdown that is. Escorts had _one_ job when they were hired. And having a panic attack was most certainly not it.

'I've never been here before.'

One lie. Should've been easy. But it sounded unconvincing in Yuuri's mouth, words weak. Did Victor notice?

'Do you know where you are?' Victor asked, concern still laced between the words, holding them together. Yuuri nodded his head, still not trusting himself to lie adequately yet. 'Do you want to tell someone? Will that make you feel better? I don't mind.'

Yuuri opened his hands flat against Victor's chest, felt the muscle there. Remembered pushing against the skin as he moved on top of Victor, just the night before. A shiver went through him, one that had nothing to do with the cold or the leftover panic.

He thought of how much he knew about Victor from years of admiration, all the things Victor had confessed to at dinner beginning fill in the space between those things. Yuuri thought of all the time he'd spent on his bed, staring up at Victor's image, fantasising about all those moments becoming a reality. About this moment now.

'I trust you,' Yuuri said softly, frowning to himself when he realised that it was true. It was Victor's turn for shocked silence now, it would seem. He let out a long breath, white and cloud-like in the October frost. Yuuri felt his face grow hot. He looked away, blinking with nerves so much it made his contacts move.

Moment broken. Ow.

Yuuri subtly tried to fix his contacts, his face certainly getting redder as he did so.

'I'm glad to hear that,' Victor said, moving backwards and taking Yuuri with him, hands slipping from Yuuri's waist so he could hold one of Yuuri's. Yuuri fidgeted with the strap of the gear bag as they walked around the front of the building, away from the main entrance. It was dark, imposingly so, but the grip Victor had on Yuuri was reassuring. Long fingers wrapped around his own like laces on a skate.

But Yuuri's treacherous little heart was still pounding, distrustful. Pumping adrenaline in anticipation of flight.

(Wasn't this all just too- coincindental?)

Victor brought Yuuri to one of the service doors, typing in the code for the electronic lock. Yuuri watched, fascinated and still unsure of how to feel as Victor opened the door, pulling Yuuri into pitch black.

'I know the organisers quite well,' Victor explained, taking his phone out to use a torch as he led Yuuri down the service hallway. 'They gave me the code last time I competed here. I wanted to show you where I skate.'

'That's-' Weird, was the word that came to Yuuri's mind immediately, but it was squashed down by the immense excitement Yuuri felt at hearing those words come from his idol's mouth. Was Victor going to skate for him? Yuuri suddenly thought of his own gear bag, understanding dawning. Excitement was snuffed out with dread. 'Ah- are we going to... skate?'

'Of course!' Victor exclaimed, slightly too loud for Yuuri's comfort and accent narrowing the word a point.

Yuuri felt his throat close up, panic waking up from it's slumber with a growl; 'But I- I don't have any skates!'

Skating, in front of Victor Nikiforov? _Again_ _?_ Not even for six thousand dollars _an hour_ would Yuuri do it.

'Don't worry, I have some for you.'

'How-? But you're not dressed for skating!'

'Everything I need is here, of course. In the competitor locker-room.'

'You don't even know my shoe size. What if we get caught?! You'll get in trouble!'

Victor stopped walking at that, turning on his heel so quickly that Yuuri walked straight into him, chest to chest. Yuuri looked up at Victor, who was all stark lines and deep shadows from the harsh light of the phone in his hand. Illuminated in the small, dark space between them like something other-worldly. Yuuri looked at Victor's lips, shadow black, before looking back up into his eyes. Yuuri had never been with a client for so long without being kissed yet.

'Then let's not get caught,' Victor crooned, words rough on the edges and getting caught in Yuuri's ears, giving him goosebumps.

It felt like a trap.

'Okay,' Yuuri exhaled, surrendering.

Victor smirked, obviously delighted and he pulled Yuuri with him again down the hall.

 _He's crazy,_ Yuuri thought as they turned a corner, space becoming a little more familiar to Yuuri as they entered it. They were close to the changing rooms now, locker room after. Yuuri's mind was stuck between the two satellite thoughts; the idea of what they were doing, (which was so mad, so outside of what Yuuri would ever or had ever done), and the impending dread that Yuuri might actually have to skate in front of Victor.

Should he fake being terrible? Yuuri _was_ terrible, mind, but that was only competitively. Yuuri wasn't sure he could manage to pretend to be a complete novice. Maybe he could just throw himself on the ice and Victor would take pity?

Or maybe Victor would recognise his crumpled mess of a body, putting two and two together?

Yuuri wasn't sure.

Victor brought Yuuri into the locker room, flicking the light switch as he did. It was exactly as Yuuri remembered it from his own times there; open wooden cubbies on one side of the wall and large lockers on the other. The rink was normally used for hockey and basketball, accomodating for such. Yuuri stood in the centre of the room as Victor beelined for one of the lockers.

'So what size skate are you?' Victor asked, twisting a lock with his back to Yuuri. Yuuri watched him move, followed the line of his back.

Yuuri wished they were back in the hotel. Yuuri knew what to do with a bed awaiting him instead of a rink.

'I really don't need skates. I won't be any good.'

'Please, just tell me. There's no point skating now if I can't do so with you.'

What was Yuuri supposed to say to that? His heart pulled in on itself in his chest, constricting space. Yuuri tried to commit those words, coming from Victor Nikiforov's mouth, to his memory. Etch them, like into stone. Victor would never say such a thing if knew the truth, but it didn't stop Yuuri from enjoying every syllable of it.

'Uh, an eight. Eight and a half?'

Victor paused in his unlocking, tossing his head over his shoulder, silver hair splaying out like feathers at the movement.

'What's that in European sizes?'

'Forty-two,' Yuuri answered immediately, earning him a bemused look from Victor. Yuuri shrugged, quietly bashful. 'I'm very familiar with those things.'

'So it would seem,' Victor grinned, lock finally clicking open. 'I assumed you'd be about that. These are actually a forty-three, but if you lace them tight enough they won't go anywhere.'

Whomever's skates Victor had given him, they weren't his own. Yuuri hadn't realised he'd be secretly hoping for that until he felt some disappointment at spotting the blades, typical steel instead of the luminous gold of Victor's iconic pair. Yuuri still had Victor's original tweet of the golden skates' first appearance saved on his laptop.

God, he was pathetic, wasn't he?

(If only Victor knew.)

Yuuri took the pair that were offered to him. They were white leather, a bit beaten up but recently sharpened going by the metal of them. Yuuri eyed them, mild disapproval lurking; 'Did you-' Yuuri looked back up at Victor, stern. '-steal these?'

'Borrowed,' Victor purred, _r's_ rolling all the way down Yuuri's back like a shiver. 'Put them on, please.'

Like Yuuri was in any position to refuse.

They changed in silence, backs to each other. Yuuri had brought his own training gear- loose black sweats and a deep red gym shirt he'd had far too long. It was slightly too big for him now. It was a bit surreal, getting dressed so modestly considering Victor and he had already slept together. But the whole thing reminded Yuuri vividly of the Grand Prix Final they'd shared, all that time ago.

(Not that Victor remembered. Apparently).

Yuuri had been so careful to avoid Victor then. Getting ready in the hotel, waiting until Victor had left the changing room before going in himself to put his skates on. Yuuri had wanted to impress him on that first meeting. Wanted Victor see him where Yuuri felt his most beautiful.

Back then, Yuuri had never felt more confident than he did on the ice. Under the heavy lights and sparkling sequins, any one who might've been watching or judging faded away. Nothing had mattered more than the skating itself. Yuuri had wanted so badly for Victor to see him through all that- to consider him an equal.

Needless to say, it didn't work out that way.

And now again, here Yuuri was. But things were different here. Yuuri knew how to be beautiful now, knew how to get someone's attention and it certainly wasn't on the ice.

But Yuuri couldn't help but feel he was stuck in a loop- some terrible cycle that brought him back and back again to skating and all the embarrassment it brought with it. Yuuri glowered over at the door at the far end of the room, the one leading to the rink.

Seemed like skating was just a curse Yuuri couldn't quite shake off.

'Ready?' Victor asked, throwing Yuuri out of his thoughts. Yuuri looked at him. Victor still looked gorgeous; tall in his skates and slender in black under-armour.  He had a hand reached out, waiting. Yuuri ran a hand over his hair, still styled back with gel, completely unsure.

'Sure,' he said anyway, taking Victor's hand.

Stepping out towards the rink was like stepping into some bizarre illusion. Some misremembered or half-dreamnt place. The space was _so big._ Only the emergency lights were on, two to three weak spotlights across the length of the ice's surface in a cold light, almost blue. The stands were empty and in darkness, like they didn't exist. As if the moon-like surface of the ice was the only world that was there. And Yuuri and Victor the only people in it.

Yuuri stopped and stared. He'd never seen a rink look this way before.

Victor continued without him, reaching the entry at the awning. His voice brought Yuuri back, calling Eros' name gently. Yuuri watched as Victor removed the guards from his skates, placing them on the awning and stepping out onto the ice. The only sound in the rink now was the whisper of Victor's skates, the gold voltaic in the eerie glow.

Victor only moved in slow, sweeping steps but he did so with purpose, finesse. He didn't skate far before he turned in a delicate circle, coming around to face Yuuri again. He looked how Yuuri had always wanted him to look, silver hair glowing and face open with excitement. Even in the sweats he was wearing, Victor's movements were obviously fluid and skilled. 

'Are you coming?'

Yuuri took a deep breath, before he removed his own guards and came onto the ice.  
  
'I- I really don't skate,' Yuuri stuttered feebly, still trying to read Victor's expression for any hint that he might know more than he was letting on. But Victor was still smiling brightly, if anything he looked even happier at what Yuuri said. Corners of his lips curved as he skated over, halting gracefully before Yuuri.

'I'll teach you!' he said happily, taking both of Yuuri's hands and tugging him forward across the ice. Yuuri bent into the movement effortlessly, unable to fake a stumble in time.

'No, I know how!' Yuuri admitted before he could stop it and then mentally kicked himself.

Victor watched him closely, something that Yuuri thought might be hope in his eyes as Yuuri turned in his skates. Flickering almost green in the blue light. Yuuri flushed, panicked for a moment at his confession. He tried to pull his hands out of Victor's grip, but Victor just held on tighter. Yuuri continued, bumbling: 'I just- I mean I've never... I only skate at the local rink.'

That wasn't strictly speaking a lie.

Victor still looked pleased, smile growing wider. Bowed lip tucked in, like the top of a heart.

'Excellent! Then the hard part's already over! What can you do?' he pressed excitedly, guiding Yuuri across the ice with a grace that shook something deep inside of Yuuri. It rattled through him, stunning him for a moment, whatever it was.

Victor was speaking, but Yuuri was no longer listening.

Yuuri had always dreamed of this. To skate on the same ice as Victor Nikiforov. Last time he had the chance, it had barely registered that was what he was doing, his mind too caught up in what had happened at home and the pressure of the Grand Prix itself. This was worlds away from that. More than a world- it was a whole other life away. A whole new Yuuri.

But one thing was still the same- Victor had no idea who Yuuri was, current or otherwise.

Some part of Yuuri wondered if he should be offended, but he barely felt anything like it under the immense relief of knowing that Victor still had no inkling to his actual identity. Eros was still firmly in Victor's mind, underdog skater _Katsuki Yuuri_ very much nonexistent. But this still all felt a bit dangerous.

Yuuri was toeing a very thin line, he knew. He couldn't help but be led though, Victor spreading his arms and turning Yuuri in a large counter across the ice.

'Do you know how to do any jumps?' Victor asked, facing Yuuri now and skating backwards as Yuuri followed him. Still holding hands, both sets of fingers tinted pink. Yuuri looked at them while they skated. Victor was very pale.

'No,' Yuuri lied. If he attempted any jumps in front of Victor, this close, with everything that had happened between them already, he would surely fall. And all Victor needed was to see Yuuri fall to jog his memory, Yuuri was convinced.

'Would you like to try to learn one?'

'Uh,' Yuuri replied, smoothly. Victor let go of Yuuri's hand, instead moving his hand up Yuuri's arm to pull Yuuri flush to his chest as Yuuri's momentum carried them both onward. Their skates bumped together and Victor was smiling so beautifully. Yuuri blushed instantly, minimal bravado officially spent.

Ice skating. It had to be ice skating. If Victor had brought Yuuri anywhere else this would be going very differently. Yuuri couldn't maintain his confidence on the ice, not anymore. Not even with Phichit being the only one to watch. And now Yuuri had Victor's full attention. Yuuri's stomach twisted with embarrassment.

This was much too close to who Yuuri really was; too far removed for the protective persona of Eros to shield him. In his own clothes, in the rink he'd competed in himself so long ago...

If only Victor knew the truth. He'd probably drop Yuuri so fast Yuuri would be dizzier from that than any spin Victor could teach him.

'Is that a yes?' Victor asked softly, face inching forward, their idle skating slowing to a stop. Yuuri thought back, trying to remember the question and not focus on the fact that Victor was probably going to kiss him.

Finally.

'Yes,' Yuuri said, to the kiss before he suddenly remembered that Victor had actually asked him if he wanted to learn any jumps. Yuuri jerked back to his senses, hands coming up to press against Victor's chest to make some space between them. 'I mean, no! No, no. That wouldn't be a good idea.'

Victor looked disappointed for a moment, before his brilliant smile was back. He followed Yuuri, closing the space again, both arms around Yuuri's waist this time.

'Are you sure? I'd be a great coach,' Victor said, all persuasion and Yuuri wondered, madly, what a life with Victor as a coach would be like.

Probably insane, if he was honest. Victor was a bit insane.

(Not that Yuuri minded, really).

'No,' Yuuri said again, a bit stronger. Victor huffed a small laugh at Yuuri's stubbornness, eyes creasing. Yuuri tried to think of a reason, settling on one almost randomly; 'What if I injure myself?'

That actually made sense. Yuuri ran with it.

'I can't really afford to have a broken ankle in my profession,' Yuuri replied, lowering his voice and aiming for a flirty tone. Trying to bring Eros to mind. But something dark crossed Victor's face for a moment and Yuuri felt his blood turn cold. Maybe he had misread the situation? But it was gone instantly, Victor smiling again and leaving Yuuri thinking that maybe he imagined it.

'Then I'll just have to be very careful with you,' Victor said, pushing off with momentum and carrying Yuuri forward with him. 'I'm just happy I have you here.'

Yuuri could not have dreamed, in all his years, that Victor Nikiforov would say that about him being on the ice. It was wonderful and Yuuri felt like his heart might burst from his chest with happiness at hearing it. All the nervousness he had felt melted away. Yuuri could even ignore how freezing his feet were, as he'd only brought one pair of socks.

Victor turned slowly around, skating alongside Yuuri and their hands swinging together between them. It was dreamlike, skating in the rink after hours. With the stark light all they had to guide them, the world narrowed down to a single point where Yuuri and Victor were, balancing on the edge of it.

For Yuuri, there was just Victor and the pale, blue light they circled in.

'You're quite the natural,' Victor said, skates hushed on the surface, letting Yuuri go as he turned on his skate in a small spin. Seemed he couldn't resist, arms boneless in their movement. Yuuri smiled at the sight, feeling that deep something churn inside him again.

'Nothing compared to you,' he confessed honestly. Victor met his eye, lips curling into a smirk.

'I only have one criticism,' Victor said, swooping in front of Yuuri, causing Yuuri to halt suddenly, body lurching forward into Victor's waiting arms. Victor caught him, fingers cold even through Yuuri's t-shirt. His hands slid up Yuuri's waist, moving to slip down his arms. Victor used Yuuri as an anchor as he skated behind him in one fluid movement, hair flowing just a little. He stood behind Yuuri, his chest to Yuuri's back. Yuuri's knees trembled.

'You're far too tense,' Victor whispered in Yuuri's ear, his cold nose trailing down the back of Yuuri's neck, lips ghosting on Yuuri's skin. He guided Yuuri's arms up and out, almost like a spread eagle. Victor's hands ran up and down Yuuri's arms, leaving goosebumps in his wake as he followed the lines of Yuuri's muscles.

'I guess I'm just not very confident,' Yuuri replied, holding the position Victor had put him in. Victor's fingers kept moving, up and down. Tracing small circles on Yuuri's wrists. 

'You're quite toned. You must exercise well.'

'I have to. I eat out a lot and gain weight easily,' Yuuri said quietly, like they were telling secrets, breath swirling in the cold of the rink. 'Not very attractive.'

'Hmm,' Victor hummed, voice rumbling down in his throat and his lips pressing against the back of Yuuri's neck. Yuuri gasped softly at the touch. It was weirdly intimate. 'I wouldn't mind it. I imagine you'd be quite cuddly.'

Yuuri was silent for a beat before he laughed lightly, nervous giggling at the ridiculousness of what Victor had just said.

'That's just- stupid.'

'I mean it,' Victor breathed against Yuuri's skin. His arms came down, encasing Yuuri's waist, hands splayed wide. Fingers hard, t-shirt twisting as Victor felt Yuuri's stomach, then his sides. Pressing his hands in like he was trying to map out Yuuri's bones. Yuuri arched backed, ass meeting Victor's groin and feeling the hardness there. Yuuri took a breath just as Victor's hitched behind him at the contact. They both stopped, just breathing.

'Tell me something else.'

'Like what?'

'Something like that. Something honest.'

Hands to Yuuri's hips, nose on his neck. Hot breath and it was like being drunk. Yuuri leant his head back, eyes slipping closed as he met Victor's shoulder. Victor bent low over him, like he was trying to catch Yuuri from a fall he hadn't taken yet.

'You don't ask for much, do you?' Yuuri said, tilting his head to let Victor closer.

'You give everyone what they ask for.'

Victor's hips rolled, just a fraction. Clothed cock scraping against Yuuri, the weight of it heady. A reminder? No, a promise.

'No one's ever asked me for that.'

'Then that was their mistake.'

Victor kissed Yuuri's neck, barely there and yet so warm that Yuuri shuddered from it. Teasing was rare for Yuuri, most sessions tending to lack foreplay. If this could be called foreplay. The grip on his hips tightened, dragging Yuuri further back into Victor's body. Victor's erection was curved down by his sweats, but it just pressed in at the cleft of Yuuri's ass. Even in his skates, Yuuri could only catch up to Victor's height.

Yuuri felt his own cock start to fill from the touch, the anticipation of being so close, feeling everything. The knowledge of who he was with. The memory of the night before. Everything coming together in liquid, pooling heat. Breathing turning heavy as one of Victor's hands traveled lower, across his stomach, down his abdomen. So slowly and so hard, like he was trying to carve Yuuri out.

Blade through the ice. Memory of having Victor inside of him, thick and throbbing. Yuuri whimpered, wanting.

'Ask me again,' Yuuri blew out between his lips, feeling the graze of Victor's teeth against his jugular causing his breath to speed up. Victor's hand finally made it down where Yuuri wanted it, palm up and firm against Yuuri's half-hard cock.

Victor's other hand came up to Yuuri's neck, fingers spread as he tilted Yuuri's head back even further. He applied a little bit of pressure, Yuuri very conscious of his Adam's apple as it was pressed down into his throat. It felt reckless, to let a client do this- but Victor wasn't just any client. The thought of how strong Victor was, of how easily he could overpower Yuuri but _he didn't_ only made Yuuri moan with the expectation, cock growing into Victor's waiting hand.

Yuuri finally moved his hands, one coming up to find Victor's hair and the other gripping the wrist of the hand he was starting to rut into.

'Tell me something true, _miliy_ ,' Victor growled into Yuuri's throat, tongue following the words to leave open, wet kisses there. He started sucking, skin between his lips pinching. Yuuri's hips bucked forward of their own accord, meeting the resistance of Victor's hand pressing down, rough and hot. The friction was so good, but Yuuri wanted more of it.

' _Vi- ah, Victor!_ ' Yuuri breathed and Victor rocked forward at the sound of his name, his own hardness sending sparks through Yuuri. 

'The way you say my name,' Victor breathed, words hot and damp. Yuuri shuddered beneath them, trembling all the way down. Victor pushed against Yuuri's straining sweats, shoving him back into Victor's own arousal.

This close, Yuuri could smell the cologne Victor was wearing. The heat of his skin. It was intoxicating. Yuuri wanted the scent of it to cling to him, wondered if he could find it on his clothes later.

Victor almost growled, releasing Yuuri's neck. Accent serrated; 'I could fuck you right here. Would you let me?' 

Yuuri whimpered as Victor rolled his hips forward, dragging his clothed cock against Yuuri's ass. Yuuri would let Victor split him open if he asked, he was sure.

'What if-' Yuuri groaned as Victor tightened his grip, Yuuri's cock throbbing under the attention. He held onto Victor's wrist, not stopping him. Just holding, tightly. 'Someone might see us.'

'There's no one here' Victor said, voice thick. Victor started to roll his hand slowly, fingers cupping now. Yuuri found himself whimpering, almost whining with want.

Sex with other people had never been like this before. Sometimes it was good, rarer times it was _great._

But this? This was different. Different even from last night.

Last night, Yuuri had been in his element. Hotels, local sex parties. Eros' clothes, Eros' friends and Eros' life that Victor was visiting. It was Eros Victor had brought to bed; Yuuri acting out the fantasy he'd had a thousand times through Eros' actions.

Here on the ice though, in his old gym gear and the almost-dark, Yuuri had never felt further from that. Here, right now, Yuuri almost felt like himself.

And Yuuri wanted to be.

Maybe it was Victor. Maybe it was the fact that it was  _Victor._ But everywhere Yuuri was touching him felt like his skin was burning, bubbling over with something akin to pins and needles. Something hungry awakening inside, desperate to devour anything and everything Victor would offer.

Yuuri wanted Victor fuck him again, wanted Victor to touch everywhere and take his time. Wanted to smell like Victor and his sweat, wanted to feel the burn Victor would give him for days.  
  
It was mad and primal. But Yuuri  _wanted_ it. All of it, all over again.  
  
And Victor still hadn't even kissed him yet. Yuuri didn't think he'd ever wanted someone to kiss him as much as he wanted Victor to do so now.

'You still haven't told me anything,' Victor rumbled, hips pushing against Yuuri and their skates slipped beneath them, moving forward.

Yuuri had to think for a moment about that before he remembered Victor's request.

'I want you to kiss me,' Yuuri said, entirely honestly. Yuuri opened his eyes, turning his face to see if he could see Victor's, but the angle was too sharp, Victor's face still buried in Yuuri's neck.

Victor huffed a small laugh, breath wet. Yuuri shivered, eyes squinting at the mass of silver hair.

'That's cheating.'

'Maybe,' Yuuri said with a rasp, gripping Victor's hair tighter and pulling his head up so Yuuri could try and see him. Victor gasped at that, his erection twitching behind Yuuri. Yuuri smiled, understanding and confidence beginning to slip it's way back in. 'Yeah?'

' _Yes_ ,' Victor growled, teeth baring down onto Yuuri's neck as Yuuri tugged on his hair. Yuuri yelped as Victor bit him, much too loud and it echoed through the rink. His collarbone felt almost ticklish beneath the assault, causing Yuuri to arch his back. Victor's rubbing on Yuuri's cock grew more erratic and hard, friction so good. Pushing Yuuri back into Victor's waiting hardness in a constant wave.

'We should get off the ice,' Yuuri panted, very afraid he wouldn't last much longer with the way Victor was taking advantage.

'You seem _perfectly_ happy where you are,' Victor said and Yuuri could feel him smiling. 'Tell me how it feels.'

Victor ran his hand up along Yuuri's length and for one awful moment, Yuuri thought he was stopping altogether. But instead, Victor only moved to slip his hand beneath the waistband of Yuuri's trousers. Yuuri gasped at the chill, whining at the contact.

Victor pulled Yuuri's cock up, fisting it so slow and massaging the foreskin. Skin prickling with the sensation of cold fingers. It was awkward, but then Yuuri could feel himself getting a little wet at the tip from the attention anyway, mewl turning to a low keen, deep in his chest.

'G-good,' Yuuri managed to get out, eyes closing again as Victor began to move a bit faster. Victor's grip on Yuuri's throat tightened, just slightly. It felt possessive, grasping like that. Yuuri imagined there'd be a mark, (he knew there wouldn't be), but there was something about the image of Victor Nikiforov's fingerprints on him that made his toes curl in his skates.

Yuuri thrust into Victor's hand, thought igniting a pleasure in him he didn't even consider. 'Feels good. _God._  You f-feel good.'  
  
A firm thumb ran over the head of Yuuri''s cock, spreading the slick there and Yuuri's head bent further back, almost off Victor's shoulder entirely as he gasped with the sudden rush the feeling gave him. Victor's grip on his neck was so firm now, Yuuri's head bent so far back, that it was a struggle to make any noise. Just deep, guttural whines, spurting up through him as Victor pulled and twisted. With each stroke, Yuuri felt like was getting hotter and hotter. Skin aflame, stomach tying itself into tight, little knots.

'I want-' Yuuri panted, eyes squeezed shut and not entirely sure what he was asking for. _More_ , anyway. His hips thrust forward, only to fall back against the firm line of Victor's own need. Need for Yuuri.  

'Tell me what you want,  _kotenok,'_ Victor purred, sounding very pleased with himself, like he knew exactly what the Russian would do to Yuuri. Yuuri canted his hips back in retaliation, loving the hum Victor let out as Yuuri rubbed his body along Victor's cock.  _That_ , Yuuri thought. He wanted more of that. Victor squeezed, both Yuuri's hardness and his neck, and all thought fell away from the spark it gave.

'Don't- don't stop _, oh!'_ Yuuri got out, barely. His voice was stretched too thin by the pressure on his throat, breath coming out in desperate little puffs of  _ah ah ah's._

Victor made a strangled sort of sound as Yuuri pushed back again, firmer. Yuuri released the silver hair he so admired to trail his hand down the back of Victor's head, holding his lips to Yuuri's neck where they were kissing him again. Yuuri was going to have a mark there, or at least be red.

The thought of that, of carrying a kiss from Victor Nikiforov like a signature caused Yuuri's back to arch, cock slipping with sweat slick in Victor's hand, fingers tight.

'Come for me,' Victor asked, downright sinful. Yuuri moaned as Victor picked up his pace. 'God, you smell amazing.'

Victor breathed in deeply, kisses sloppy now. Wet, sucking things on the place where Yuuri's neck met his jaw. So close to what Yuuri wanted, but not quite there. It was all getting too much now, Yuuri's thrusting turning frantic as Victor's grip was  _just_ right, thumb teasing just between the slit.

Then Victor squeezed the base of Yuuri's cock, bruising almost and Yuuri came, hot and bursting and suddenly. He cried out, noise almost a wail. It filled the space around them, echoing even as Yuuri's panting chased after it. Victor stopped, his hips twitching against Yuuri's back.

For a moment, Yuuri couldn't think of anything. Victor still hadn't released him, hand on his cock now cupping slightly, almost protective and other still around Yuuri's throat. The slick was sticky and warm between them; still so erotic. Yuuri leant back, boneless and happy. So happy. His own arms fell, knees buckling underneath him.

Victor moved, hand down from Yuuri's throat and arm around his waist, holding Yuuri flush. Holding Yuuri safe.

Victor kissed Yuuri chastely on the cheek, breathing hotly; 'That was perfect. You're perfect.'

Yuuri was too warm to blush anymore, but he would've if he could under that kind of praise. Hearing such a thing from Victor- it did things to Yuuri. Probably bad things but _ohsogood_ things, too. 

He'd never been with someone he liked this much before. 

Yuuri kept his eyes closed, taking his turn to bury into Victor's neck. Victor smelled good, too, like before. Yuuri half-considered saying so before reality began to come together around him. Namely the cold, especially in the wake of such wetness. Then-

Yuuri twisted in Victor's grip, hands coming loose around him and Victor's releasing him all over.

'I'm sorry! I should've used a condom,' Yuuri said, panic too present for him to register any embarrassment. The heat of the moment was well and truly over. Yuuri was a  _professional_ _;_ he should never have let himself be so careless. He'd let the situation get away from him.

Victor just looked at him for a moment, blue eyes staring but then his whole face folded happily. Yuuri's dread loosened at the sight, slipping away though he knew it shouldn't. Yuuri swallowed thickly, looking at the skin of Victor's throat.

'You're really something, _miliy_ ,' Victor said as he shook his head. Then, Victor was leaning forward. He kissed Yuuri on the head, Yuuri relaxing underneath it. He'd gotten these kind of kisses before; he knew what to do with this.

Yuuri slipped a hand down Victor's chest, teasing at the top of his waistband. 'Do you want me to-?'

Yuuri didn't finish, but Victor got the meaning. But instead of agreeing, like Yuuri expected, Victor laughed quietly, cheeks turning delicately red.

'I've al- ah, I'm alright,' Victor said, a hand coming to rub the back of his neck. He looked a little sheepish, very far from the man Yuuri had watched for so long through the camera lens. Yuuri blinked for a moment before his mouth opened in realisation.

Victor had- _because of Yuuri!_ Yuuri flushed himself, glad he was already red. Victor chuckled again. 

'We should go clean up,' Victor whispered, like all of a sudden he cared about being discreet. He kissed Yuuri's forehead again, lingering. Yuuri sighed, satisfied, before he could stop himself.

He was about to push out of Victor's grip when he paused, taking a small chance. Or maybe a liberty. But really, Yuuri was in a very unique situation and he'd only regret it if he didn't use these opportunities as they came. Yuuri leant up, pressing his lips to the corner of Victor's mouth. He could just taste the edge of his lips, brushing against the barely-there stubble.

When Yuuri pulled back, Victor's eyes were closed and he looked dazed. Yuuri swallowed his nerves about it all, reminding himself firmly that seducing people was what he did. Victor should be no different.

'If we clean up quickly, will you do something for me?' Yuuri asked, taking care to make sure his voice didn't tremble.

'Anything,' Victor replied and with such fervour that Yuuri almost believed him. Victor opened his eyes, blue hooded in the stark shadows.

'Skate for me,' Yuuri requested, breathless with desire to see it.

To see Victor Nikiforov move across the ice, no one to see but Yuuri and only because Yuuri asked.

Victor grinned, teeth sharp.

'Of course.'

 

* * *

 

Victor would skate his short-program for Eros.  
  
It was only fitting. Felicitous, really.  
  
He knew Eros wouldn't know the program, not being familiar with Victor's career and thus not his performance or it's narrative. (Certainly not it's name). But Victor liked to think it got the message across.

Eros was waiting for Victor by the rink when Victor came back out, (fresh sweats- his official Russian gear this time. The red was a bit garish, judging by Eros' raised eyebrows).

In the severe light of the rink, Eros looked ethereal. Pale skin glowing, dark hair back and eyes burnt like coals. He looked remarkably put together for a person who had just had an orgasm under Victor's hands. It made Victor want to make a mess of him all over again.

Victor took Eros' hand briefly as he took back to the ice, slipping his blade-guards in Eros' small hands. Eros took them almost reverently and something sharp went through Victor's heart.

It stunned him, just for a moment.

Breathing out gently, Victor left Eros at the awning and skated to the centre of the rink, adopting form. Back curved, right leg bent with arms down in a loose frame.

Then he started, every note in his head as he moved.  
  
Every time he could during the skate, Victor tried to catch Eros' eyes. Even in the dark of the rink, the light was caught in them. Fireflies in a jar. Like from movies. Eros never looked away, his mouth a little open as he watched. Victor clapped his hands above his head after the first counter from the opening step sequence, heart skipping a beat at Eros' small noise from the awning. So loud in the quiet.

Victor felt something he hadn't felt while skating in a long time. Pride.  
  
Victor was proud of his skill, of his ability. When Victor tapered off from the step-sequence into the camel spin, Victor felt his heart speed up with adrenaline and excitement. _Excitement._ There was something about knowing that Eros was watching, that he was impressed that triggered something inside of Victor. Something he thought might've been dormant.  
  
Skating for Eros was... _fun._  
  
As he took off for the first jump, Victor listened out for Eros again in the quiet of the rink. Between the sped whispers of his skates and the loud clip of his landing, Victor heard the gasp he was looking for. Victor grinned, effortlessly embracing his character. The character he'd been struggling with for so long.

When Victor had first designed this program, he'd had a very particular story in mind. Something he'd never decided to share on the ice before. Victor had wanted to surprise his audience, wanting to reveal something new to them.

Show them the side of Victor everyone craved to see- the playboy, the seducer. Why let the gossip rags speculate when Victor could just sign a confession on the ice?  
  
But now Victor wanted something else. Victor was no longer interested in showing the world what he could do. The world  _knew_ what Victor could do.

Victor wanted to show them something- someone new.

He wanted to carry what Eros himself had shown him into the performance. Tell a different story, even it didn't really belong to Victor. As Victor moved through a counter, he draped his arms to try and echo the way Eros had spun on the dance floor the night before. Invitation, not command.

Victor bent his head back as he twirled on the ice, building momentum for the quadruple flip. Remembered how Eros had looked, just moments ago, mouth open and breath cloudy as he came. Submission.

Victor wanted to submit to Eros, but he also wanted Eros to return the favour. Victor was sure he could convince Eros to do it.

Eros had already been so different tonight from their last meeting, clearly out of his comfort zone by doing something new. The man beneath the persona could be nervous, shy even. Victor adored the contradiction, desperately wanting to explore the space between both sides.

He wanted Eros to let him. To trust Victor like he had tonight.

Another camel spin, arm flat against his body. Victor thought of a ballet barre.

Eros was still careful, despite everything. Ballet poise in everything he did. Still hidden beneath his carefully constructed walls. Victor had hoped he'd have gotten to know more about Eros as a person, as a dancer.

But they still had time. A whole other night, even, ahead of them. Victor would get another chance.  
  
Victor moved into the final sequence, casting off his imaginary lover and turning into a tight spin before halting, fringe flared. In the wake of the silence, only Victor's laboured breathing filled the space.  
  
Then-  
  
'Victor!'  
  
Victor looked over to see Eros was almost falling onto the ice he was leaning so far over the awning. His face was split open into a broad smile, eyebrows raised and it was like a book had fallen, revealing all the pages. Eros looked _delighted._ Like Victor's performance had all he'd ever been waiting for. Victor grinned back, enamoured with Eros' earnestness. A more than suitable reward.

Victor really hoped he wasn't doing it on purpose.  
  
Victor wiped his forehead with the back of his hand as he skated back over towards Eros, fringe sticking to the skin. He made it to the awning, skates bumping into it and hands coming down for grip on it's edge.

'So, what did you-'  
  
Two hands fisted in his shirt, tugging Victor forward so fast that his skates nearly fell out from under him. Eros was pulling Victor down and using the leverage to push himself up as their lips met in a hard clash.

Eros' lips were hot and insisting, tongue running along the seam of Victor's mouth. Victor took a moment, shocked with Eros' forwardness, but then completely melted into it. He opened his mouth, accommodating Eros enthusiastically. It was wet and bold, almost violent. Like Eros was trying to pull something out of him and the whole thing had Victor groaning into Eros' open mouth.

Victor was putting off kissing Eros. Not to tease him or anything, (alright, maybe to tease a little), but because Victor wanted to test his own anticipation. Wanted to create that yearning, that build up, hoping in the process to weaken Eros' resolve. The longer Victor could keep him waiting, maybe the further Eros would be from his usual client experience.

Victor was waiting for the right time, wanted to  _take_ his time. Open Eros up and see who was hiding beneath.

All that had gone well and truly out the window, because Eros was kissing him  _right now_ and be damned if Victor was going to stop him.  
  
Victor pressed his body flush against the awning to try and cool down, but Eros' little mewls did nothing to help. Obviously Victor's plan of wanting Eros to _want it_ had worked. Victor grinned beneath the assault Eros was making on his lips, pleased to have gotten such a reaction.

He brought his arms around Eros' waist, consistently surprised with how narrow it was. He thought randomly of what Eros had said earlier in the night, about having to watch his weight. Victor felt that with the right training, with the right person to help him, he wouldn't have to worry so much.

Skating was a great way to stay in shape, after all.

He held Eros to him as they kissed, dirty lapping slowly beginning to chasten, lips coming together. It sent shivers down through Victor as he realised suddenly that he had actually gotten what he wanted; Eros had lost control.

Watching Victor skate had moved Eros so much that he just had to kiss Victor, had to touch. The thought was as humbling as it was satisfying.  
  
Eros drove one last, powerful kiss against Victor's lips before he pulled back, breath tumbling out of him. His brown eyes were swirling, face pink and carefully styled hair beginning to fray from it's gel. He looked utterly ravished and Victor's stomach rolled with pleasure at the sight of it.  
  
'You never cease to surprise me,' Eros whispered, still woven into Victor's shirt. He sounded so wistful, almost like he was confessing something and Victor's heart did a skip. 

Victor pulled Eros forward, almost lifting him off the ground and back across the ice over the awning's wall. He felt warm, soft in places. Victor wanted to reacquaint himself with those places.  
  
'Good,' Victor said genuinely. 'I hope I can keep doing so.'  
  
Eros was smiling, almost looking disbelieving. It was endearing, teetering on adorable. Victor wanted to know how many other people Eros had shown this face to. He hoped not many. He _really_ hoped not many. Victor had the sudden urge to gather Eros into his arms, steal him away somewhere private so he could have him to himself.   
  
Victor caught the thought quickly. That was creepy. He was being creepy. Victor couldn't possess an expression and he definitely couldn't _kidnap_ his escort. 

That was- really, really bad. Like there were laws for that. Victor frowned at his at his own insanity.   
  
Eros hadn't noticied Victor's internal meltdown, thankfully. One of Eros' hands came up, holding Victor's face. He was rubbing small circles with his thumb, eyes on Victor's lips and looking thoughtful. Victor wondered if this was another act, another routine of Eros' or if it was genuine. He tried not to wonder, he really did. (But it was hard).   
  
'Please do,' Eros said quietly, brown eyes shooting up and meeting Victor's gaze. Victor's arms tightened reflexively around Eros, enjoying the feel perhaps too much. Eros smiled; a small, fragile looking thing. Lips twitching up, pink cheeks aflame. 'One surprise after another. If you don't mind.'  
  
Victor put the thoughts of Eros' reality, (the fact that he was being paid to be there, that he was paid to be other places, too), out of his mind, instead focusing on what was immediately in front of him.

And what was immediately in front of him was a very beautiful, very warm man who just kissed him so truly Victor could still feel it.  
  
'Anything. Anything you want.'

It should scare Victor how much he meant what he said. It really should.

 

* * *

 

Leaving Victor at the hotel was so difficult. Yuuri felt like he'd cheated Victor somehow, that he hadn't lived up to expectation.

After all, Victor had  _skated_ for Yuuri. Not only that, but he skated his competitive short-program. It made Yuuri embarrassed to call himself  _Eros_ when faced with the real thing. Not that Yuuri could say any of that, of course.

Victor continued to assure Yuuri that all he had wanted was to see Yuuri like that. Victor told Yuuri that what he wanted to was to give Yuuri a date he'd never had before.

That was wonderful in of itself, but then Victor leaned in close, voice rough as he told Yuuri that nothing could compare to holding Yuuri's body while he came and that he very much wanted the pleasure of doing so again. That knocked the wind right out of Yuuri, even banishing the awe Yuuri still felt at Victor's skating skill.  He hadn't known what to say to it, embarrassed by the blush he felt coming, so instead Yuuri just linked his arm with Victor's, resting his head on Victor's shoulder to hide his face.  
  
Going by the hum of approval he got at the time, it seemed to be enough of a _thank you_ for Victor.  
  
They'd walked a small bit of the way before Victor waved down a taxi. The hotel really wasn't far, only a twenty-minute walk. But so close to one in the morning, the air had turned baltic and Yuuri had wished he brought a thicker coat. He really hadn't thought they'd still be out by this time.

The taxi had pulled up to the hotel some ten minutes later and now Yuuri found himself standing before the hotel entrance door, Victor's hands clutched in his own.  
  
'You should come in,' Victor said quietly, tugging Yuuri just a bit. Yuuri laughed, breath pillowed out in the cold.  
  
'I really hadn't intended to stay the night,' Yuuri replied, professional coy easy now that Yuuri was back in Eros' clothes and in front of a hotel. Victor almost looked like he was pouting and Yuuri felt himself smiling at it.  
  
'I can make it worth your while,' Victor purred, taking a step forward to kiss Yuuri. Lips soft, tongue just teasing. But it still made Yuuri's knees tremble.  
  
Yuuri wanted to. He _really_ wanted to. If they continued the pace they'd started back at the rink, Yuuri knew that the sex would be more than great. It would mind-blowing. His stomach flipped at the thought, memories of what it felt like to have Victor fuck into him suddenly very vivid and Yuuri desperately wanted to know what else Victor could do to him.  
  
In the wake of all that the prospect of another night with Victor held, Yuuri almost forgot his promise. Almost.  
  
'I have a prior engagement,' Yuuri confessed, hating the way Victor's teasing smile faltered at the words. Yuuri squeezed Victor's hands, before he gently disentangled himself. 'You should sleep anyway. Your competition is tomorrow and I've already kept you up far too late.'  
  
'I assure you, I regret nothing,' Victor said, eyes blazing for a moment as he moved, stealing another kiss.

This one was hard, lips closed but face bruising against Yuuri's, hands gripping Yuuri's shoulders. Yuuri couldn't even open his mouth under the force of it and an unbidden whimper rose from his throat. Then Victor was gone- leaving Yuuri's lips burning.

'Tomorrow,' Victor said, voice husky and all the _r's_ rolling together. 'Don't prepare in advance.'

Yuuri didn't understand, but before he could say so, Victor leaned up to whisper roughly in his ear.

'I missed the chance to open you up last night. I'd very much like it if you'd let me have the honour tomorrow.'

Comprehension dawned and red hot desire spiked right through Yuuri's stomach, twisting arousal deep in his gut.   
  
'I can't wait to see you again.'  
  
'Me, too,' Yuuri whispered weakly in response as Victor released him, turning his back slowly before he walked into the hotel. The doorman held open the swing door, (the only one open so late), nodding to Victor as vanished into the warm light of the building.

Yuuri stood outside still, heart pounding, gut throbbing and mouth tingling.  
  
'Popular, aren't you?' The doorman said as he replaced the door, turning to give Yuuri an amused look. Yuuri touched the tips of his fingers to his mouth, tracing out the place where Victor had kissed him.  
  
'Looks like,' Yuuri said, dazed. Yuuri shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts. Victor was a client, a client Yuuri would see tomorrow. He needed to get a goddamn grip. 'Can you call me a taxi, Ben?'  
  
The doorman raised an eyebrow, smiling kindly as he motioned down the street with his gloved hand.

'That black car on the corner is for you.'  
  
Yuuri reached into his inner coat pocket, fumbling in the cold as he pulled some dollars out. He stepped over and handed the folded notes to Ben, who raised a hand as if in protest but Yuuri spoke before he could; 'Please take it. You're always looking out for me. I'd have died from pneumonia by now if it wasn't for you.'  
  
Ben was in his late forties- broad shouldered and closely cut hair, with the darkest skin Yuuri had ever seen on someone. His eyes were the colour of caramel. He laughed at Yuuri as he took the money, slipping it into the pocket of his thick black coat.

'Someone's gotta watch out for you, son.'  
  
'How lucky I am to have you then?' Yuuri said genuinely, before waving goodbye and heading down the street towards the cab.

The journey home felt timeless. Like a dream. Yuuri swam in the memories of the night, of Victor's hands and how safe he'd felt cradled in Victor's arms. There was pleasure and then there was- whatever it was that made Yuuri's blood feel like it was gasoline that had just caught fire. Yuuri grinned to himself as he stared out the window, squeezing the strap of his gear bag in excitement.

He had a whole other day more to go.  
  
Yuuri walked into the apartment at exactly 1:29AM.  
  
He shouldn't have been surprised, really. But Yuuri still cried out when he saw Phichit waiting for him on the couch, watching something on his laptop and one of his hamsters nestled in his pyjama top. Phichit smiled tightly at Yuuri and closed his laptop while Yuuri stuttered, pointing at Phichit accusingly.  
  
'You- you should be in bed!'  
  
'I had to wait for you! Cutting it kind of fine, weren't you?'  
  
'Your short-program is tomorrow! You have to be at the rink at _half seven,_ what are you doing?!' Yuuri asked manically, dropping his gear bag to stalk over to the couch. Yuuri carefully plucked the hamster from Phichit's chest, ignoring his protests as he turned to the coffee table to replace Tibbles in his cage. Yuuri put his hands on his hips after, glaring down at Phichit on the couch who did not look remotely sorry.

'Get to bed.'  
  
'Are you actually mad?' Phichit said, dark eyes shining with amusement and Yuuri huffed. He reached down, grabbing Phichit by the arms and pulling him up, laptop falling to the couch cushions.  
  
'Bed. Now,' Yuuri said sternly, pulling Phichit down the hall.  
  
'I told you! I had to wait for you,' Phichit said, laughing a little. Yuuri shook his head, not impressed.  
  
'No, you didn't.'  
  
'Yes. I did,' Phichit said, tone suddenly stern.

He stopped half way down the hall. Yuuri paused, glancing around the bare walls of the hall before he turned back to face Phichit. Phichit's face was hard to read in the dark, the only light coming from the lamp around the corner in the living room. Yuuri couldn't see Phichit very clearly, but the air between them felt chilled. Phichit folded his arms and Yuuri could feel he was glaring.

'I had to make sure you were safe.'  
  
Yuuri felt guilt. Heavy, leaden and weighing him down from his chest all the way to his stomach.  
  
'I'm always safe,' Yuuri replied softly, tugging awkwardly at the cuffs of his coat.  
  
'You don't know that. Not for certain,' Phichit said, before he stepped forward. He hugged Yuuri, arms around Yuuri's shoulders and breath warm against the side of his neck. 'Someone's gotta look out for you.'  
  
Yuuri wanted to tell Phichit that that someone didn't have to be him. That what Yuuri did for a living shouldn't interfere with Phichit and his life, that it was the last thing Yuuri wanted. But right now, with his best-friend holding him so tightly, in the dark- Yuuri found he just couldn't muster the words.  
  
'Thank you, Phichit.'  
  
'You're welcome,' Phichit said, releasing Yuuri. 'Did you have a good- uh, whatever it was?'  
  
Yuuri thought of his evening. Dinner and flirting, the way Victor spoke so quick with his hands waving. He thought of the way the rink had looked, the same rink Phichit would skate at in a mere ten hours time. Blue, alien and empty. He thought of Victor's hands, his lips and the way he used Russian petnames. Yuuri smiled broadly, a very small hum of pleasure coming with it.  
  
There was no time to explain everything. Phichit would want to know every little detail- how it started, how Yuuri felt. But there was no time now. Phichit needed to sleep, or Yuuri's worst fears would come true.  
  
'I did,' Yuuri said, squeezing Phichit's shoulders as he guided him down to the bedrooms. 'And I promise to tell you all about it. But not now. You need to sleep.'

 

* * *

  
The alarm went off at five am and Yuuri wanted to die.  
  
It was _too_ early. God. But Yuuri knew he had to get up, as tired as he was. Groggy with exhaustion, Yuuri disengaged himself from the comfort of his bed to go and open the curtains. For all the good it did, as this late in October the sun still hadn't come up. Yuuri hated getting up early. He didn't care what anyone said- getting up when it was still dark was depressing.  
  
Unfortunately, depressing or not, Yuuri had to get up and go back to the Westin. He'd left his other bag there and he needed to check out before making his way to Skate America for Phichit's performance.  
  
Yuuri stumbled over to his suitcase on the floor, pulling out a pair of jeans and an old brown jumper. He had the day off- no one to impress today. Eros' clothes remained hanging in the wardrobe, the only clothes Yuuri had bothered to unpack yet. Yuuri would have no use for them until after the short-program. While tugging his jumper over his head, Yuuri thought of the night before. He grinned to himself, cheeks heating up with the memory of Victor.  
  
Yuuri would be lying if he said he couldn't wait for their next appointment.  
  
(Sorry, Phichit).  
  
Yuuri padded down to the living room in search of his trainers which he was sure he'd left there. There he found Phichit, already awake and by the smell of it, making coffee. The kitchen was much too bright with the lights on and the curtains of the living space open, even if it was just to let streetlight in. Yuuri rubbed at his eyes, wiping the last of the sleep from them as a yawn rose up out of him.  
  
'Ph- _a-awh._ What are you doing?' Yuuri gaped dozily as Phichit looked up from his phone. Phichit was already in his gear, black nylon tracks shining slightly in the artificial light. He was leaning across the island of the kitchen, looking remarkably calm. He smiled brightly and Yuuri groaned in preparation. Phichit was a morning person.  
  
'Morning!' Phichit exclaimed, standing up and saluting Yuuri. Yuuri grumbled in response, fishing his glasses out of his pocket to slip them so to see his flat-mate better. That was a mistake, as now he could really see how chipper Phichit was.  
   
'Coffee,' Yuuri muttered, rounding the island and bypassing Phichit entirely to reach the small coffee pot. Going by the completely barren space of the kitchen, it was the only thing Phichit had thought to unpack. Yuuri thought about that for a moment, before turning to look at the boxes on the other side of the room. They had been moved around, one of the bigger ones opened. Yuuri glanced at Phichit, who was back to scrolling. 'Did you unpack any mugs?'  
  
Phichit paused in his tweeting, (or Instagramming, or Facebooking, or whatever). He looked over at Yuuri, perhaps a little evilly; 'I unpacked _my_ mug.'  
  
Yuuri thought as much. Not that he was in a position to complain, mind.  
  
Sighing, Yuuri went back around the island, past the couch and into the opened box. After fishing around for a moment, Yuuri managed to pull out a heavily bubble-wrapped piece of crockery. Ugh, why did he have to be so meticulous?  
  
After finally having the satisfaction of his first sip of coffee, (even if it was extremely bitter as Phichit also hadn't thought to buy milk), Yuuri readjusted his glasses as he surveyed Phichit from where he had perched himself on the countertop.  
  
'Why are you even up? You don't have to sign in until half seven.'  
  
'Early bird, you know!' Phichit replied, like that answered everything. Yuuri rolled his eyes and took another sip of coffee. 'Besides, I couldn't sleep anymore. Too pumped for today, I guess. What about you?'  
  
Yuuri frowned at his coffee, picking at a stray piece of tape on the mug's porcelain; 'What about me?'  
  
'Why are you awake?'  
  
'I have to pick something up,' Yuuri replied, sipping his coffee and still lamenting the lack of milk. 'You should've slept in. You were up too late.'  
  
'So were you,' Phichit replied darkly and Yuuri could see him frowning. Yuuri chewed the inside of his lip, unsure of what to say to that. He took another long, silent sip of coffee. Phichit refreshed his phone, eyes still on it but he shifted slightly in his leaning on the island. Yuuri waited. 'So. You going to tell me about your evening? It's okay, there are no children around.'  
  
Yuuri licked his lips, nervous. How exactly was he supposed to explain that he'd spent his evening in an abandoned ice-rink with Victor Nikiforov giving him the single greatest hand-job he'd ever had in his life? An event that was then followed by a private performance _by_ said Victor Nikiforov?  
  
And it all started with dinner at Phichit's most hateful restaurant.  
  
'Um,' Yuuri said instead and Phichit rolled his eyes, turning to face Yuuri properly and giving him a _look._ Yuuri blushed under the scrutiny. 'I- uh, don't really know where to start to be honest.'  
  
Phichit shifted from one foot to the other. Arms awkward, one fidgeting with his phone and the other swinging aimlessly. Phichit then stamped a foot childishly and put his hands on his hips. 'Well, I don't know how to do this either! But we're going to try, okay?'  
  
Yuuri started at Phichit's sudden burst of emotion, jumping and sloshing coffee in his mug. Yuuri swallowed, throat feeling thick and stomach turning a little with nerves. He knew he had to earn Phichit's trust back. But he'd spent years keeping this secret- his own private, fantasy life. It was hard to open up, harder than Yuuri had first imagined. It was like the words were stuck, too big to work his mouth around.  
  
After a moment of thinking, Yuuri tried something.  
  
'How about you ask me about something particular? And I'll answer you,' Yuuri suggested, making himself meet Phichit's gaze. Phichit touched his chin, mulling it over. Then he nodded, a determined look on his face.  
  
'Okay! That sounds good,' Phichit said, the first sign of a smile twitching and the sight of it made Yuuri feel like the knot his stomach was twisted into loosened. 'We'll start easy. Man or woman?'  
  
'Man,' Yuuri answered, his mind unhelpfully prompting the memory of Victor's very stiff cock pressed against his back. He took a sip of coffee to hide his red face, arousal certainly not something he should entertain while wearing jeans at half five in the morning.  
  
'Good looking?'  
  
'Very,' Yuuri said immediately, thinking of the posters of Victor he still hadn't unpacked. 'Beautiful, actually.'  
  
Phichit made a face at that, a cross between impressed and embarrassment. It was strangely endearing and Yuuri actually felt like he might smile. Phichit pursed his lips, thinking for a moment before his next question.  
  
'Did you go out? Like on a date? Or was it, like...?' Phichit trailed off, no longer looking at Yuuri. Instead he focused on the fridge. Yuuri laughed once, not able to help himself though he knew it probably didn't help Phichit at all. Phichit flushed red and did meet Yuuri's eye this time, face stubborn. 'Give me a break here, I'm trying!'  
  
'I know, I know! I'm sorry,' Yuuri said, putting the mug down on the counter next to him, hands between his swinging legs. 'We went for dinner. And then-' Yuuri bit his lip, but then decided. 'We went ice skating.'  
  
Phichit's mouth fell open. A perfect little _oh_ of shock.  
  
'You? You went ice skating? While working as an escort, _you_ went _ice skating?!'_  
  
'Uh, yeah.'  
  
'Alright. So ignoring the obvious insanity of that, I thought you'd have to- I mean, doesn't being escort mean _sex?'_ Phichit muttered the last word, like there was the smallest chance someone might hear him. Yuuri began to tense, shoulders creeping up with insecurity.  
  
'Well,' Yuuri said slowly, word drawn out. It was mortifying; talking about this with Phichit, with anyone. When Yuuri was Eros- it was being a different person. A different person with a different life. Secret and more than private. Like the truth was written on Yuuri's bones, where only he could feel it.  
  
But Yuuri had given that up. He made the choice to tell Phichit. And now he had to honour that.  
  
'There was... you know,' Yuuri started, lamely and he could feel his blush creeping up. 'We did. Have- A little.'  
  
'You had a little sex?' Phichit asked, tone disbelieving. Yuuri shrugged, uncertain of how the conversation would turn from here. Then, Phichit laughed and it was so unexpected that Yuuri almost fell off the counter entirely. Phichit ran a hand over his face, laughs now turning slightly hysterical and Yuuri was beginning to panic now.  
  
He'd done it. He'd completely broke Phichit down the day of his Grand Prix qualifier. Yuuri felt sick.  
  
'I used to think I knew everything about you,' Phichit said, eyes shining with tears as his laughs subsided slowly. He looked at Yuuri fondly, but Yuuri still found himself wary. Not entirely trusting the situation yet. Phichit took a deep breath, chest puffing out. 'Out of the blue, you tell me all this. But you're still you. You're still Yuuri.'  
  
'Of course I am,' Yuuri replied, quietly like speaking too loud would burst the treacherously hopeful bubble that beginning to form around him.  
  
Phichit was smiling, broad and amused. Yuuri felt relief and slid off the countertop, socks meeting the hardwood floor in a whisper. He stood awkwardly for a moment before making up his mind and he crossed the small space of the kitchen hugging Phichit tightly, arms around Phichit's waist. Phichit made a small _oof_ at the suddent contact, but he hugged Yuuri back almost instantly.  
  
'You're insane,' Phichit said, but he sounded happy about it.  
  
'Probably,' Yuuri agreed as he released Phichit, who looked down at his phone as it beeped.  
  
'I have to go now. I said I'd meet some of the other first-timers for breakfast,' Phichit said, turning on the spot and making his way over to the hamster cage, that was still sitting on the coffee table. Yuuri really had to convince him to move them. It wasn't very hygienic. 'Will I see you before the short-program?'  
  
'Hopefully,' Yuuri replied, watching Phichit sit down and put on his own trainers while he cooed at the hamsters. 'And just because I'm up in the stands doesn't mean I won't be able to see everything, so you better give it all you got!'  
  
'Yes, 'coach'! Jeez,' Phichit teased, leaping to his feet and grabbing his _Thailand_ gear bag from the couch. 'See you later!'

Phichit left with a wave, leaving Yuuri alone with his black coffee. Yuuri poured the last of it down the sink, abandoning his mug there and heading towards to the couch to put on his own shoes. Slowly, the apartment was beginning to brighten, sky paling outside the window. Yuuri was about to sit down when his professional phone went off from his own deserted gear bag behind the couch.  
  
It wasn't exactly unusual for that phone to go off at odd hours. But usually those odd hours were _before_ five am, not after. Yuuri altered course, fishing the Blackberry out of his bag.  
  
1新しいメッセージ _-V  
  
_ Yuuri gasped, delight blooming and leaving him in a soft squeak. Victor. Yuuri opened the message eagerly, heart pounding so loud he could hear it himself in the quiet of the apartment.  
  
**05:32AM** _Good morning x  
  
_ Not a sext. Not a booking. Just a text. A plain, normal text that someone might send if they'd been on a plain, normal date. Yuuri knew it was a red flag, knew that it was exactly the kind of behaviour he shouldn't encourage and never had encouraged before in other clients unless they already had a very established professional relationship. Yuuri couldn't charge for texting, couldn't keep the strict boundaries in place like that. Yuuri knew all of this and yet-  
  
**05:33AM** Good morning to you, too.  
  
Yuuri locked the phone, holding it to his chest as his heartbeat sped up, fingers trembling. He was playing with fire, he knew that. Victor was a client and despite how much Yuuri liked him, (and he did, he  _really_ did), Yuuri would have to tread carefully. But Yuuri also knew that Victor was only in America until at the latest Monday morning. There surely wasn't any harm in indulging, just a little?  
  
The phone went off again and Yuuri almost dropped it with the fright he got.  
  
**05:33AM** _You're awake! I'm so glad x Early riser?_  
  
This was fine. Texting was fine. Yuuri was always good with texting anyway. It's not like Victor was there, not like he could see how large Yuuri's smile was or how he bounced on his feet with excitement to be texting his idol. His idol that he had _slept_ with, _skated_ with. Yuuri was half-tempted to wish that he and Victor would be married, as the way his life was going at the moment, Yuuri's dreams just happened to be coming true.  
  
Well, maybe it wasn't exactly the way he pictured it in his head as there Victor always knew who Yuuri was. But _details.  
  
_ Still, Yuuri decided to test the waters a bit. He backspaced over his initial flirty response, going with honest instead. After all, that was what Victor had specifically asked for. And a good escort always gave the client what they wanted. _  
  
_**05:34AM** No. I hate mornings, actually.  
  
**05:34AM** _Maybe you just need the right encouragement? ;)  
  
_ Yuuri thought about how it felt to have Victor kiss him. The wetness of his tongue and the heat of his mouth. Yuuri licked his own lips, very conscious of the red mark on his neck under the hem of his jumper.  
  
**05:35AM** Is that why you're texting me? Morning encouragement?  
  
The next message was delayed by three minutes, not that Yuuri was counting. Or disappointed. Because Yuuri was a professional and an adult. But Yuuri still waited for the next message before actually getting on with his morning.  
  
**05:38AM** _If you're offering a good luck kiss for today, I'm certainly not complaining.  
  
_ They texted the whole time Yuuri put his coat, hat and scarf on. Awkward fumbling as Yuuri tried to button his blue raincoat up, private smiles as he fished his surgical mask out of the pocket. Emojis as he tied his scarf.  
  
Yuuri knew what he was doing was grossly inappropriate. He knew that if this behaviour continued once he and Victor had parted ways, he'd have to be firm. But for now, Yuuri allowed himself to enjoy Victor's unexpected company. Turned out Victor was also a morning person, which Yuuri felt suited him a lot better than Phichit. Though Yuuri might be biased.  
  
**06:07AM** _How do you feel about dogs?  
  
_ That was the message Yuuri got as he walked into the Westin, shivering a bit as he body adjusted to the sudden heat. Yuuri shook his head to himself at Victor's randomness. Most of the conversation they'd shared this morning had been Victor asking Yuuri a serious of seemingly arbitrary questions; what was his favourite food, did he like Western music? (Katsudon; yes). How long had he studied ballet? (Thirteen years, back in Japan).

Does Yuuri still dance?  
  
(Sort of).  
  
Victor texted about himself as well. About what he was doing right then, ( _Pretending to listen to my coach)_ , or how he felt about competing that day. _(I imagine how you feel when you're about to start your job)._ Yuuri adored every single, typed word.  
  
Yuuri typed out his answer as he stepped into the lift, other hand slipping the keycard in before selecting his floor.  
  
**06:08AM** I love dogs. Why?  
  
Victor didn't reply immediately and Yuuri tried not to let it bother him. Skate America was practically starting in an hour with sign-in, even if the men's skate weren't until the afternoon. It was silly of Yuuri to think Victor would spend all his morning and attention texting a prostitute. Yuuri shook his head at his own irrationality, walking out of the lift as it arrived on his floor and heading down the hotel hallway towards his unused room.  
  
Yuuri was in the process of gathering his satchel up from the bed where he had thrown it haphazardly the evening before, stuffing the wine shirt and other black trousers he'd been wearing into it, when his phone went off again. Yuuri dropped everything, fishing the phone out of his pocket.  
  
1新しいメッセージ（写真） _-V  
  
_ Photo? Yuuri had received photo messages from clients before and had a pretty fair idea of what to expect. He did not receive what he expected.  
  
Yuuri recognised the dog instantly, having seen her entire, fluffy life from pup to current. Makkachin, Victor's poodle. The photo was unfairly cute, Makkachin's curly fur a perfect brown halo as she stared up adorably at the camera. Yuuri felt his breath catch in his throat, the memory hitting like brick through glass and Yuuri felt momentarily shattered.  
  
Vicchan. Yuuri's own toy-poodle, who Yuuri had gotten in inspiration of Makkachin. Vicchan, who died, alone back in Japan, the day of the Grand Prix Final, four years ago-  
  
Shoving the phone back into his pocket, Yuuri took a few moments to breathe. He dug through the satchel, fishing out the slightly crumpled envelope. He tipped the cash out, counting it slowly. Maybe it was materialistic, or superficial, but counting cash made Yuuri feel a bit better when his thoughts would try to run away from him like this. There was something comforting in the tangibility of it, the affirmation of Yuuri's worth. He counted out all two thousand, two hundred and fifty dollars of it. One, two, three. He replaced all the cash back in the envelope, breathing beginning to even out.  
  
Yuuri flipped the satchel closed, buckling it barely over the stretch of it's contents. Readjusting his surgical mask, Yuuri took once last look around the room, satisfied. He then turned and left, snapping the door shut behind him.  
  
With his thumb, Yuuri twiddled the cursor ball of his Blackberry, staring blankly at the new unopened message he'd gotten from Victor. It wasn't Victor's fault- as Yuuri was _very_ aware, Victor had no idea who Yuuri was. There was no way he could've known how Yuuri would feel. If anything, this was good. It reminded Yuuri quite firmly why there were boundaries in the first place.  
  
Victor was someone Yuuri had admired for so long. Maybe it was foolish to let the godlike illusion Yuuri had of Victor in his mind get chipped away with the truth of him.  
  
Yuuri gave in anyway and opened the message.  
  
**06:35AM** _This is Makkachin! She's mine <3 Do you like her? Of course you do, sorry!  
  
_Victor in reality was... crazy. So, so crazy. Yuuri really liked him.  
  
Suddenly, the phone started ringing as Yuuri called the lift. He frowned down the ID. _Withheld._ That was pretty standard. Most people who called his service didn't want it tied back to them in any way. He pulled the mask down, freeing his mouth as he answered the call, only doing so as the lift was empty.  
  
'Hello,' Yuuri said, watching the rolling numbers as the lift descended.  
  
A woman spoke, voice soft and American; 'Hello. Is this Eros?'  
  
'Yes,' Yuuri answered, shifting his shoulders under the weight of the satchel. The woman laughed, a tinkling sound that rubbed Yuuri wrong somehow. He was probably still off from his weird Vicchan moment. Yuuri adjusted his tone anyway, slipping low and deep, opposite way for what he did for male callers; 'What can I do for you?'  
  
'Oh, um,' the woman stuttered and Yuuri resisted the urge to sigh. He knew he should be more compassionate- it was obviously her first time. But usually women were much more certain than men for what they were looking for. Yuuri could feel a slight headache coming on, so his patience was thinner than usual. 'I- I'm not really sure. I've never done this before.'  
  
'It's alright,' Yuuri said, trying to sound sympathetic. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the handrail. 'What's your name?'  
  
'Clementine.' Huh. Odd.  
  
'It's lovely to speak with you, Clementine,' Yuuri replied, leaning back against the handrail as the lift moved past the twentieth floor. 'Is there anything you'd like to ask me?'  
  
'Maybe I'm not ready,' Clementine said, distant for a moment, like she was away from the phone. 'I'm sorry, can you tell me the options? I've never done this before.'  
  
She was repeating herself. Which wasn't unusual, but there was still something about it. Something _off._ Yuuri stood up straight again, looking down at his trainers as he thought. His heart was beginning to beat a small bit faster now, suspicion crawling into him like a chill.  
  
'Did you have a look at my website?' Yuuri asked carefully, trying to keep his tone even. Clementine gave that same, high laugh and Yuuri's stomach churned.  
  
'I did, yes! I'm afraid I didn't understand it that well though,' Clementine drawled, smile obvious in her tone. It made Yuuri uneasy. Calls were rarely like this. In fact, Yuuri was had only ever received a call like this once before. Back when he still worked with the agency and Hannah. 'Could you tell me? What it is you can do?'  
  
Suspicion ignited into fear.  
  
Yuuri replaced his mask, muffling his voice a little. Maybe it was futile, maybe not- but it made Yuuri feel better when he gave his reply; 'I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm not well at the moment. Could you call me back at another time?'  
  
'Oh! Well, no, I'm afraid. I can really only talk now-'  
  
'My apologies then,' Yuuri said before he hung up the phone, perhaps slightly manically. He was breathing heavily now, composure falling away entirely.  
  
That had been a set-up. It had to have been. Those questions and the tone- it was all wrong. Yuuri would never admit to anything over the phone, voice call or text, for the reasons Hannah had taught him not to, all those years ago. People who called Yuuri for his service knew exactly what he offered- they didn't need confirmation past the name Eros. Something was wrong with that call, with that woman.  
  
Yuuri scrambled to get the back off the Blackberry, tugging the battery out to get at the SIM card. He scraped it out with his fingernail, shoving the rest of the Blackberry pieces back into his pocket as he snapped the SIM in two. The plastic bent first, but then gave, two torn pieces. Yuuri stared at them for long moment before tucking them into his jean pocket as the lift arrived at the lobby. He'd have to change the website domain when he got home as well. Just to be sure.  
  
Yuuri stepped out into the lobby, about to toss the broken SIM pieces into the gilded trashcan by the lift doors before he thought better of it. Maybe on the walk back to the apartment instead. Yuuri did throw the Blackberry's battery away there, though.  
  
This was fine. After all, he was thinking of upgrading his professional phone anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise. The fluff was actually smut. Do not have sex on an ice rink. Any sex, of any kind. It is so fucking cold, like. Took total creative liberty there. Regret nothing.  
> \---  
> Holy shit, lads. 30 comments in my inbox over 4 days. There are fics on this website with twice the kudos and four times the views, but they wouldn't have as communicative a readership as I do. You guys are a writers dream. You're all so involved, and chatting to each other, and being so kind and I just??? I'm weak from you. 
> 
> This whole story is just dedicated to you. Because wow, how did I ever get so lucky to have you all? Like honestly I'm blessed. You keep me going, because this story is like 200K words long and editing it so it's readable is just such a chore sometimes, but every time my email goes off and it's a message from you I feel like I'm on fire with love for it. 
> 
> Just thank you all. So much.


	6. Personal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Victor is very much smitten and kind of a stalker. But no more than canon Victor was a stalker. (Basically- the fluff chapter)
> 
> Yura ne nuzhdayetsya v vas, chtoby zashchitit' yego - Yuri does not need you to protect him

As the music started, Victor lost himself to the memory.  
  
Just hours ago, on this very ice, Victor had been given the chance to know what _true_ trust felt like. What eros could be when someone let you in, almost entirely until you saw the truth of their soul. What _sex_ could be. Pleasure layered upon pleasure, until you were drowning in it. Victor swept to the left after the opening bars and once the violin started, spun into his first step-sequence, arms reaching for someone who wasn't there.  
  
It wasn't the best orgasm of Victor's life. Nothing explosive. But it had been one of the most involved, maybe the most intimate one he'd ever had. It was in his eagerness, the intoxication he felt at having someone so strange and beautiful give themselves over. Victor had rather hoped on getting Eros to at least the locker-room, but losing himself so plainly and even embarrassingly to Eros somehow proved to be infinitely more rewarding.  
  
Victor bent low into the sit-spin, feeling his face heat up with exertion and fondness as he thought of Eros. Of the way he moved with Victor so fluidly, the way he trusted Victor so, so quickly. This close to the ice, Victor could barely hear his music over the scrape of his skates. As he turned, it was like he was alone with only the memory of Eros to keep him company. The audience falling away entirely.

Victor had never let someone see him like that before. No one had ever wanted to.  
  
Trust was not something Victor was overly familiar with. No one he knew trusted him. Not really. Victor couldn't blame them most of the time. He was flighty, often forgetful and terribly self-absorbed. One had to be, if they wanted to win. Wanted to be the best. That meant the most people expected out of him was to let them down in his ambition. Even Yakov didn't trust Victor, offering a scold more than advice before Victor had even done anything.

But Eros hadn't been like that. He hadn't seen Victor's short-comings. Eros let himself be led by Victor, let his body be guided like Victor was all he needed to move forward. What Victor wanted, Eros just gave, trusting Victor to take it.  
  
Triple-axel, into a counter. The transition was smooth but Victor kept his face artfully blank, betraying nothing of his pride. He was happy to have landed it so well. To show off. Who knows? Maybe Eros was watching- somewhere.  
  
Victor hoped so. This performance was for Eros, after all. Side-step, building momentum for the quad-combinations. The crowd roared, a blur of colour.  
  
Thinking about the noises Eros made while he came made Victor's heart flip, burnt on both sides with it. He thought of the curve of Eros' back, so perfectly aligned with Victor and the feel of his skin. The smell of his shampoo. He must've showered right before their appointment. The thought was oddly endearing.  
  
Quad-Salchow and triple toe-loop. Excitement coursing through his body, down to his toes. Every movement an invitation, reaching out for someone. A very particular someone.  
  
Having someone trust him was one of the most addicting things Victor had ever experienced. When he had taken Eros' throat, it was mostly out of necessity. He had wanted to hold on, to feel Eros' skin but the rink had been too cold to get under the shirt. But Eros' reaction! His leaning and whimper. How could Victor resist pushing the boundaries of such a thing? Victor tried to meet him where he was, fingers mapping points where Victor could kiss Eros until he bruised. And Eros had shuddered, moaned and embraced every moment of it.  
  
Using the speed he'd gathered, Victor leapt into a splendid quadruple flip. With each rotation he remembered something new about Eros, about his face and his hands or his hips. On his landing and into the spin, Victor thought of the way Eros had left him so cruelly at the end of the night. Victor's hands moved through the motion of his program, echoing Eros' dismissal.  
  
He halted, fringe flared and knees trembling.

Just a little.  
  
_'Victor Nikiforov has just taken the lead with a phenomenal 110.84 score for his short-program, On Love: Eros! It's a new best for Nikiforov this season and beats Jean-Jaques Leroy's score of 108.23! Nikiforov is now in first place!_  
  
Victor smirked when his score was announced, winking at the nearest camera while Yakov preened next to him, pride having to fight it's way from his stern face as they both sat in the kiss-and-cry because hell would freeze over before Yakov smiled. For anything. Victor flicked his hair, to the delight of reporters and fans alike going by their cries, his heart pounding with self-satisfaction. It was his highest short-program score of the season. The announcers were calling it a _return to form_.  
  
Victor knew better, of course. There really was no replacement for true inspiration.  
  
'Mister Nikiforov!' a reporter called raising a gloved hand and holding their phone in the other as they waved Victor's attention over to them. 'How do you feel about reaching your standard after a disappointing result at the Nebelhorn Trophy?'  
  
'I wouldn't call a gold medal _disappointing_. Are the press that starving for gossip they'd undo my hard-work so easily?' Victor chimed in response, causing the reporter to splutter with embarrassment for a moment, his face flushing beneath his scarf. Yakov made a clicking noise of disapproval next to him.  
  
'My apologies, I just meant how do you feel now that you've achieved your normal short-program mark of over one-hundred after only receiving a ninety-eight in Germany?' the reporter continued, his hand brandishing the phone more forward. 'What do you feel has changed between now and September?'  
  
Victor pinched his chin, thinking for a moment how to respond. Unbidden, brown eyes came to his mind. He smiled, closing his eyes to enjoy the mental image more. He'd get to see Eros again, just that evening. Victor hadn't planned anything this time and hopefully Eros hadn't either. They could be spontaneous- with luck. Victor tended to be very lucky.  
  
'I guess you could say I found my muse!' Victor teased, Yakov waving the reporter away when they tried to press for further questions. With one firm hand, Yakov gathered Victor up and guided him out of the kiss-and-cry, towards the common room behind the rink.  
  
'Now isn't the time to be smart to the press, Vitya,' Yakov grumbled, collapsing down onto one of the sofas. Victor laughed, pushing his hair out of his face. It was sticky with sweat. He may have pushed himself slightly during _On Love: Eros,_ putting his quadruple flip in the second half of the program. The risk had proven to be entirely worth it.  
  
'It's the perfect time. I'm winning.'  
  
'When aren't you? I trained you well enough,' Yakov replied, though he sounded far from happy about it.  
  
Victor rolled his eyes, picking at stray sequins on his costume. It was styled like a two-piece; voluminous tulle shirt in ombré black to red, bell-sleeved with a deep _v_ down the chest with shimmering sequins on the cuffs. Then slim-fitting black trousers with spiralling red and gold sequins down the thighs. More masculine than Victor would normally have designed, but at the time of _On Love: Eros'_ conception, such a decision had made sense. Victor was still in two minds of whether he should revise it or not.  
  
'You shouldn't be drawing the press on you. You're already a circus for them,' Yakov said, taking his fedora off to wipe at his balding head. 'Don't fuel their fire.'  
  
'I would never,' Victor said, mocking offence though most days he did intend to do just that. Victor didn't care what the press wrote about him. He'd been skating far too long to let their gossip rile him up anymore. 'You're not mad about that anyway. You're just upset about my spending.'  
  
_'Vitya!_ ' Yakov snapped, causing a few of the other people in the room to turn their way.  
  
Victor smiled blithely at the group of three skaters in the far corner. First-timers. Only one would be able to qualify this weekend for the GPF. Victor only recognised them barely from his vague following of the assignments. Beyond those competing from his own Russian team, Victor rarely registered other competitors. He was forgetful enough as it was- never mind adding extra names for him to remember.  
  
'You shouldn't speak of such things,' Yakov muttered irritably, shooting furitive glances towards the huddle of other competitors. Victor rolled his eyes at Yakov's grumblings. Like anyone was paying any attention to what they were talking about- really, so silly. Who would even care what Victor spent his money on?  
  
Well. Victor caught himself grinning and bit his lip to try and stifle the smile he got as he thought of Eros' round nose, his dark lashes. If anyone had any idea what Victor was spending his money on, the worst he'd have to worry about was probably competition, because who'd meet Eros and _not_ want to?  
  
'I know subtly isn't one of your strengths, Vitya. But I was at least hoping for some form of discretion...'  
  
Victor wasn't listening, officially losing interest in the conversation as familiar music filtered in from the arena. He watched the screen as Chris appeared on it, moving through his short-program _Intoxicated_ with expected, slow grace. Chris was never one to peak early.  
  
As Chris twirled into the second half of his program on the screen, one the newer skaters was pulled away by his coach. Victor recognised Celestino immediately, his long brown curls iconic at this point. Victor felt a bit of sympathy for the nervous looking skater, dark-skinned with black, black hair and an elaborate costume of gold and red. He looked quite nervous and Celestino had never had much luck with getting his skaters to qualify for the GPF. Victor was sure he couldn't even name someone Celestino had successfully gotten there. Hopefully this skater and he were a better match.  
  
As Celestino and his skater left the room, Jean-Jacques Leroy walked in boldy, almost knocking his shoulder into them. Victor frowned as Leroy threw a coy smirk in his direction. Such terrible manners. Victor hadn't interacted with Leroy much at their last competition, but he remembered having the same impression then. Looked like Leroy hadn't matured over the summer.  
  
'Hey, Victor!' Leroy called, waving a hand obnoxiously. Victor rolled his shoulders and stood up to his full height, despite the fact that Leroy and he were almost evenly tall. Almost, but Victor still had him beat by an inch. A very smug inch. 'Great work out there on the ice. I always get so nervous when I see an old-timer try their quads. I suppose you had to watch your knees.'  
  
'I don't recall,' Victor replied coolly to the back-handed compliment as Leroy approached him, garish purple sequins winking in the light were they peaked out from beneath Leroy's kit. Behind Leroy, his coach gave a curt nod to Yakov on the sofa. Leroy picked at imaginary dust on Victor's shoulder.  
  
'It's good to see you haven't given all your talent away to your new protégé,' Leroy continued, arching a sly brow and grinning. All sharp, white teeth. 'I heard he took the Cup of China by storm with the program you choreographed for him.'  
  
Victor waited before allowing himself to feel too proud, unsure of how Leroy was going to steer the compliment.  
  
'He's got quite the reputation,' Leroy said, glancing over at the two other skaters who were watching the screen avidly as Chris stepped off the ice. Celestino's skater would be next. 'Did he learn his temper from you? I hear you were quite the drama at that age as well.'  
  
Yakov made a small noise of disapproval from the sofa, but Victor side-stepped to block Yakov from Leroy's view. The last thing the situation needed was Yakov's temper. (Which may or may not have been an influencing factor for the discussed skater, if Victor was being honest). Victor folded his arms, holding his chin up and watched Leroy from his bare-inch. He did not tolerate such rudeness.  
  
'Yuri Plisetsky is passionate.'  
  
'Is that what you'd call it? I hear they call him the Russian Punk.'  
  
Victor bristled immediately, not appreciating Leroy being so over-familiar or the use of Yuri's newly acquired press nickname. Leroy didn't know Yuri, they'd never met as far as Victor knew. Who was he to make that kind of comment to Victor and Yakov? Yuri was only fifteen, it was his senior debut and alright, Victor would admit he could be quite- _acerbic_. But he was still learning. Leroy at nineteen should know better.  
  
'I see your grace is limited to the ice,' Victor said coldly and a little louder than needed. From the corner of his eye he saw the other skaters turn away briefly from their watching of the screen. Victor smiled, turning it cruel now he knew they had an audience. 'I know they say money can't buy manners, but surely even on a runner-up's winnings you could've afforded a least one.'  
  
Leroy opened his mouth to retort, but his coach put a hand on his shoulder sternly. Victor raised an eyebrow, signalling for Yakov to join him as he stepped across the room in his guarded skates. He waved a loose hand in Leroy's direction, smile easy; 'Always good to see you!'  
  
Yakov joined Victor as they both stood by the younger skaters, the smallest of whom squeaked as they approached and shuffled closer to his friend. Victor took a deep breath through his nose and tried not to let his upset with Leroy show too much as he focused on the screen. Celestino's skater was just taking to the ice now, the rink having been cleared from the gifts Chris had gotten. Yakov made a small, grumbling noise.  
  
_'Yura ne nuzhdayetsya v vas, chtoby zashchitit' yego,'_ Yakov said in quick Russian, conscious of their audience going by how he watched the two other skaters though they were looking at the screen intently. Victor sighed, pushing his fringe out of his face once again.  
  
'What Yuri doesn't know won't hurt him,' Victor said, forcing himself to smile for Yakov. Going by the deep crease on Yakov's forehead, he did not appreciate Victor's effort. Victor turned sweet, leaning up against Yakov's shoulder. 'Are you going to rat me out?'  
  
_'Bah,'_ Yakov groused before telling Victor he was going to get a very strong coffee. Victor cheerily asked him for a hot chocolate, but got no confirmation on whether he'd get it or not. Victor hoped he would. Surely defending little Yuri's reputation was deserving of a hot chocolate?  
  
Victor turned his attention back to the screen, to Celestino's skater. _Phichit Chulanont,_ the running text said at the bottom. Victor would admit that he didn't recognise the country flag and made a note to check it out later. Chulanont was quite talented, his spins having a particular delicacy to them but it was evident he was a _performance_ skater going by his wide spread-eagles and high kicks. Victor had a soft spot for skaters like that.  
  
Victor furrowed his brow as Chulanont twisted into a camel spin, back bent. There was something... familiar about it. Like Victor had seen that form before. But before anything came back, the feeling was gone. Victor shook his head, watching Chulanont's smile become more and more obvious as he stepped into his second half. He could hear the crowd cheer in earnest through the walls.  
  
'Vitya!'  
  
Victor looked over his shoulder to see Yakov had returned. He pouted when he spotted only one cup in Yakov's hand but was then immediately distracted by Yakov's other one thrusting Victor's phone at him.  
  
'Take this. It's being going off and I'm sick of hearing it,' Yakov said, letting the phone go so Victor had to scramble to catch it. Yakov then took a long sip of his coffee, eyes narrowed before he moved towards where the other coaches were standing in a quiet circle.  
  
1 _1 Новое сообщение – Yuri Plisetsky_  
2 _Новые сообщения_ – 001+  
  
Huh, speak of the devil and he shall appear.  
  
But curiosity got the better of Victor and he ignored Yuri in favour of opening the unknown number's messages. Victor grinned, chest blooming happy. Eros. He hadn't been ignoring Victor after all.

It was a new number, but the texts were to explain as such. The first was hours old now, but neither were very personal or a reply to Victor's last message. A private photo he had of Makkachin.   
  
**12:04PM** This is Eros. I'm sorry for the inconvience- I had an accident with my phone. This is my new number. I'm looking forward to our apppointment later x  
  
**13:11PM** Please let me know on this number where to meet you this evening. And to let me know if I need to bring anything again.  
  
Victor felt the disappointment turn leaden inside him at the formality of the words. It weighed him down. He had hoped Eros and he were making progress, their flirting and texting in the morning feeling like one of the more genuine of their few conversations. Victor had been so excited about it. But now the texts read so impersonally. Eros was pulling away- again. And Victor didn't know why.  
  
Had the picture been too personal? Too much information? It was just Makkachin. Everyone loved Makkachin! Victor found himself frowning down at his phone and biting his bottom lip, unsure how to reply. Eros didn't need to bring anything- Victor didn't have anything planned for them. All Victor wanted was for Eros to give him another chance, like he'd gotten last night.  
  
Maybe he was asking for too much. Maybe what they were doing was too far outside the professional boundaries an escort worked between. Maybe Victor had made Eros uncomfortable. If that was the case, then Victor would attempt to stay within the lines. The last thing he wanted was for Eros to feel uncomfortable with him. This would require time, trust to be built back up. One thing Victor was sure of was that Eros was pulling back deliberately, for whatever reason. Victor had to try and show him that Victor was someone Eros could let himself be- well,  _himself_ with.

Victor was a five-time world champion. He knew patience. He could apply patience here, too.

He typed out the response quickly, missing the score for Chulanont.   
  
**16:32PM** _Meet me at my room. 431. 8PM?_  
  
Victor tapped the phone impatiently, waiting for Eros' reply. He was taking a while, longer than Victor expected. One of the other two young skaters had been called by their coach. People were beginning to move now, the men's short-program finishing for the day. Eros was probably working, Victor thought suddenly and his stomach churned unpleasantly at the idea. Which was unfair and Victor knew that. Victor didn't _own_ Eros. He was a person, a prostitute at that and he made his own choices. Just because Victor and he had some more personal moments didn't mean Eros would just put the rest of his life on pause.

Though Victor would be lying if he didn't admit that he may, or may not, have entertained the daydream of Eros thinking about Victor as often as Victor thought about him. The way Victor pictured it, Eros was at the window he was pictured in on his website, frowning pensively and tracing a _V_ on the glass.  
  
It may be a little pathetic. (Alright, Victor knew it was _a lot_ pathetic). But it's not like anyone would know.

But none of that mattered. Or it shouldn't. Victor would get his last chance with Eros that evening and he was cautiously optimistic, regardless of anything else. Victor was pretty good at pushing unwelcome thoughts away.  
  
Victor absently opened the message from the Yuri, not overly interested in what his _protégé_ , as Leroy called him, had to say. Knowing Yuri it was unlikely to be anything productive.  
  
**15:56PM** _Эрос не был уродлив сегодня._ (Eros was not ugly today).  
  
Huh, that was almost- _nice_ of him. Victor sent a grinning smiley-face back with a trophy emoji as well, for good measure. He got some very unpleasant Russian back. Victor promptly told Yuri to go to bed, as it was definitely past his bedtime and Victor would tell Yakov on him. More unpleasant language.  
  
_He really is a punk,_ Victor thought, replying with the saddest emoji his iPhone could offer. At least he was Victor's punk.

 

* * *

 

'Phichit!'  
  
Phichit looked away from Celestino to see Yuuri waving at him from the stands. He had his visitor pass on around his neck, plastic shining against the brown of his winter coat. Phichit rolled his eyes. That coat was really hideous- he'd told Yuuri to get rid of it like a hundred times. No filter on either Instagram or Snapchat could save that thing, not with it's millions of pockets and really ugly buttons.  
  
Yuuri couldn't get very close, what with the barriers doubled up to create a specific place for the press. But the kiss-and-cry had long cleared, Phichit waiting it out in the hopes of just this moment. Yuuri was leaning over the bars, surgical mask bunched under his chin as he grinned widely. Phichit grinned back, excitement so prevalent that he practically skipped over to where Yuuri was, guarded skates teetering.  
  
'Yuuri! Have you seen the results?!' Phichit cried, hitting the barrier with some speed and causing it to shake between them. Yuuri nodded enthusiastically, brown eyes alight behind his glasses. 'Third! I'm in third!'  
  
'You did it, Phichit!' Yuuri replied, bouncing up and down in his trainers. 'You made the music your own!'  
  
Phichit flushed immediately, Yuuri's praise setting him on fire all over again with satisfaction. Of course Yuuri would know _exactly_ what Phichit was most pleased about it. The music he chose had been played so often in their dorm-room over the last six months he was sure they could both write the notes of it in their sleep. But Yuuri had understood, always cheering Phichit on and singing the song for him once when Phichit's phone had died at practice.  
  
In this moment, all Phichit could think about was why Katsuki Yuuri was his best-friend. And this was it.  
  
'Thanks, Yuuri-kun!' Phichit said, using the suffix to show his appreciation though he knew Yuuri really no longer required it after all these years. But Yuuri's cheeks went slightly pink anyway and Phichit felt fondness erupt in him. Phichit bit his lip, leaning up onto the toe-picks of his skates. 'Can you believe it, Yuuri? _Third place!_ If I keep it up tomorrow, I might have a chance at the podium! The podium with _Victor Nikiforov!'_  
  
Phichit was not an idiot. He knew Victor had pretty much slung the gold medal around his neck already. But Phichit was most determined not to lose his place on the podium anyway, where ever he may fall.  
  
Yuuri nodded, hand coming up to adjust the blue hat on his head self-consciously for a moment. He looked around him for a moment, seemingly taking in the fuss that surrounded the kiss-and-cry. The now abandoned cameras, the tables laden with leftover bouquets and offerings. His brown eyes lingered on the now clear surface of the rink, possibly watching the zambonis pass. He looked very deep in thought. Phichit tilted his head, trying to catch Yuuri's attention.  
  
'Yuuri?'  
  
'You did amazing, Phichit,' Yuuri said, gaze still out across the rink. Then Yuuri seemed to shake himself out of whatever funk he'd found himself in. Phichit had a suspicion over what it might be. When Yuuri looked back at him, he was smiling. 'Really. I'm so proud of you. You're bound to qualify for the Grand Prix after that!'  
  
Phichit smiled, wondering if he should bring up Yuuri's obvious memory of his own qualification, four years ago, before deciding against it. They could talk about it later. Instead, Phichit reached out across the barriers, trying to get a hold of Yuuri's hand. Only then did he notice the shopping bag looped around one of Yuuri's wrists, from T-Mobile.  
  
Confused, Phichit asked; 'Did you get a new phone?'  
  
'Hmm? Oh, right. Yeah, I'll tell you about it later,' Yuuri said, eyes snapping back to Phichit nervously. He fidgeted with his surgical mask, tugging at it slightly. Phichit frowned at him, but decided not to push.  
  
'You're a disaster,' Phichit teased instead, finally making contact and taking Yuuri's hand kindly. 'Myself and the other first-timers are going to go out for dinner after this and then back to ours. To celebrate my possible medal!' Phichit found himself grinning again, unable to help himself. 'You have to come!'  
  
Yuuri's smile faltered, fingers tightening over Phichit's a bit. He looked away, face growing red once again.  
  
'I can't. I have work.'  
  
Phichit blinked. Oh.  
  
'Okay,' Phichit said, because it was all he could think of to say. Phichit let Yuuri go faster than was probably polite, but he didn't find himself feeling all that bad about it. Frustration ate it's way up through him, swallowing his initial happiness down like a pill. He chanced his arm; 'I want to introduce you to the others; Leo and Guang-Hong! Can't you cancel?'  
  
'Uh,' Yuuri replied, unhelpfully. He ran his hands along the bar of the barrier, shopping bag swinging. He still wasn't meeting Phichit's eye and it was beginning to grate now. 'No. I can't, really.'  
  
'Can't or won't? Aren't you your own boss or something?' Phichit asked before he could stop himself. Yuuri met his gaze then, brown the colour of dirt. Phichit shook his head, clicking his tongue miserably. 'C'mon, Yuuri. This is my qualification!'  
  
'You still have the free-skate tomorrow,' Yuuri said with a blink and Phichit felt stung. Did Yuuri think the celebration premature? Did he not think Phichit could make it?  
  
'So?' Phichit snapped, trying not to let his upset show too much and failing miserably going by Yuuri's face, which contorted into something almost panicked. 'This is important to me!'  
  
'I know, but-'  
  
'Are you really going to pick work over me?' Phichit said bitterly, not caring that he sounded petulant. Yuuri looked nervous, waving his hands in front of him like he was unsure where to put them.  
  
'It's not like that, Phichit,' Yuuri said quietly, not meeting Phichit's eye once again and Phichit felt his blood boil at the sight of it. Yuuri couldn't even look at him. What made him think he could dismiss Phichit so easily? _Well,_ Phichit thought, _it's not like he hasn't been dismissing me and my feelings for four years.  
  
_ 'I thought you'd be happy. I thought we'd share this moment together,' Phichit said honestly and it hurt a little to admit as such so openly, but it was true. Sadness came over Yuuri's face, but Phichit was too mad to really pay heed. Phichit wasn't the one being unreasonable here. Yuuri was the one running off, after all their talk of doing this together. 'I was there for you when you made it to the Grand Prix.'  
  
'Phichit-' Yuuri started, but suddenly, Phichit didn't want to hear it.  
  
This was so typical of Yuuri. Even the Yuuri Phichit thought he knew. Both Yuuris had the same thing in common- he was so self-absorbed at times. Phichit used to think it was just because of Yuuri's anxiety, but now, given everything else Phichit had learned about it, Phichit was sure it was just a pretty bad charater flaw. Yuuri always made decisions for himself, never including other people. Look at the last four years. Yuuri had decided that Phichit didn't need to know, excluded Phichit because _Yuuri_ had decided that was what was right to do.  
  
'Forget it, Yuuri,' Phichit snapped, holding his hand up to stop Yuuri's stammering. Something ugly and angry swelled inside Phichit, speaking for him before he could stop it; 'Just because your Grand Prix qualification was a car crash doesn't mean mine has to be.'  
  
Yuuri looked stricken and regret instantly pooled in Phichit at the sight. He shouldn't have said that. Yes, he was angry. But he didn't _mean_ it, he just-  
  
'Fine,' Yuuri said coldly, turning on the spot and walking away. Phichit wanted to call out after him, tell him he was sorry. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, Phichit watched Yuuri leave, feeling sick the entire time he did.

 

* * *

  
Yuuri was certain of one thing. He was going to completely lose himself in Victor tonight. Anything Victor wanted, anywhere he wanted it. He was going to have it. Because the last thing Yuuri wanted was to think. About anything.  
  
Especially Phichit. (Jerk).  
  
Yuuri walked down the hallway with purpose, hips swaying perhaps a little dramatically as he fully embraced the _Eros_ persona. Yuuri had picked the shirt he was wearing because it vaguely resembled something that might act as a foil to the tulle one Victor wore in his program. Very feminine, an answer to Victor's seductive playboy. (Heavy, navy silk and once again tailored from the ladies section). Yuuri had left his coat at reception. 

 

There was something about the way Victor had moved on the ice today, the way he went through the program that shared Yuuri's name with such heat. Yuuri wanted to emulate that heat, wanted Victor to map the program he'd performed just for Yuuri the night before across Yuuri's skin. Yuuri wanted the story to be bruised onto him. He wanted to pick up where they left off. He wanted Victor. He wanted-  
  
Yuuri _wanted_ and there was nothing that was going to make him feel bad for it.  
  
Knocking on the door, Yuuri gave his hair one last push back before it opened. Room 431, 19:37PM. And Victor.  
  
Yuuri gasped softly, unable to stop it as he met Victor's gaze. Victor was in a t-shirt and jeans, his pale white collarbones and neck prominent over the low, navy hem. It made his eyes look even bluer, his hair more silver. It was a bit damp, he must've just showered. Yuuri's heart squeezed in his chest, something warm but tight settling there. Victor was nothing Yuuri had ever imagined when he was a teenager, back in Hasetsu. So long ago. He was suddenly much, _much_ better.  
  
'You-' Victor stopped, mouth opening and closing for a moment. Yuuri found himself incapable of looking away from Victor's lips. 'You're early.'  
  
'I know,' Yuuri whispered, though they were alone in the hall and it obviously wasn't a secret. But Yuuri was being a bit unorthodox, a bit dangerous. The moment feeling so fragile it might break. Seeing Victor this way, so unmade, suddenly felt more intimate than when they had sex. 'Is that bad?'  
  
'No,' Victor replied, taking Yuuri's hand and pulling him into the room.  
  
Yuuri didn't get a chance to say anything else, because the moment the door was closed, Victor had Yuuri pressed up against it and his mouth on him. The kiss was crushing, Victor's tongue pushing Yuuri's lips open with wet, minty intent. Yuuri closed his eyes and groaned, arousal so molten it changed the shape of him, back arching and arms raising up above him. Victor growled into the kiss, his own hands coming up to pin Yuuri's over his head.  
  
Victor was kissing him so wetly, so deeply that it felt like he was trying to swallow Yuuri down whole. The thought made Yuuri's knees tremble and it was as if Victor knew that, because then he pushed forward, strong body pinned against Yuuri's. Yuuri tried to push off the door into Victor's body, but then Victor moved back, only to slam roughly forward again. Yuuri tried to open his eyes, but he couldn't. Lost to the moment. The door rattled at the impact and when Yuuri moaned, Victor took the opportunity to suck Yuuri's tongue into his mouth.  
  
A small, muffled sound of approval rumbled out of Yuuri and Victor released him with a sigh, coming forward to rake his teeth along Yuuri's jaw. It was like the skin there was sparking at the feeling- erractic, hot energy. Yuuri loved it. His hips started to move, gyrating in slow circles into Victor's now _very_ hard cock, going by the stiff bulge that was crushed against Yuuri's own eagerly growing one.  
  
'Couldn't wait, huh?' Victor breathed against Yuuri's skin as he moved his kisses down, hands tight around Yuuri's wrists. Yuuri keened, gently rutting his hips between the door and Victor, desperate to feel friction.  
  
'N-no. I had to see you,' Yuuri managed to get out. Victor whimpered, _whimpered_ like Yuuri had wounded him and the noise went straight to Yuuri's cock, where it twitched in protest of it's confines. The front of his pants already felt damp, trapped between the heat. The gorgeous heat.  
  
'You shouldn't say such things to me, _pryanichek,'_ Victor said before he came back up to kiss Yuuri again, tongue first, slick lips sucking. He kissed Yuuri like that for a while, filthy and so very, very wet. Like Yuuri's entire body was liquid, waiting for Victor to swim in it. Drown maybe, like Yuuri was worth drowning in for Victor Nikiforov. It was addictive, to be wanted so much by someone Yuuri admired for so long.  
  
The kiss turned hungry. Devouring, almost and Yuuri was insatiable for everything Victor was offering. Victor's tongue slipped into Yuuri's mouth in a rolling motion, fucking into it with a steady rhythm that was all hot, dirty promise. It was like Victor was actively trying to hit all Yuuri's breaking points- open Yuuri up, because he somehow knew Yuuri would let him. Victor gave a strong suck of Yuuri's tongue and the world temporarily vanished, Yuuri's thoughts coming to a stammering halt.  
  
Sucking in a quick breath, Yuuri tried to take some control.  
  
'If that's supposed to discourage me-' But Yuuri didn't get a chance to finish his smart comeback, as Victor had only stopped kissing him to move down to where the dull, red bitemark Victor had left the night before was sitting pretty at the junction of his neck. There, Victor bit him again, sharp. Yuuri yelped, the feeling just south of ticklish and into the realms of _fantastic.  
  
'Victor,' _ Yuuri moaned as Victor started to suck on his handiwork. It would definitely bruise now. So much more difficult to hide. Yuuri felt himself flush from the thought, heat tumbling all the way down and Yuuri had never wanted anyone so much in his life. 'Victor- _please!'_  
  
Yuuri wanted to say _touch me more_ , but he couldn't, neck tiliting as Victor kissed his way up along it, teeth grazing Yuuri's adam's apple on the way. But Victor pulled back, pressing his body so flush against Yuuri's that he was sure he could feel every divet and curve of Victor's enviable abs.  
  
'Tell me what you want, _miliy,'_ Victor said and his voice was surprisingly soft, taking Yuuri aback. Yuuri opened his eyes at last, meeting Victor's blue ones. He watched the colour there, deep azure splintered with something metallic almost. Victor leaned forward, kissing Yuuri gently. The sudden tenderness made Yuuri's stomach turn over, pulling on a line from his heart. 'I want you to tell me. I want to be good for you.'  
  
'You're... doing just fine,' Yuuri replied shakily because it felt like the only safe option.  
  
Victor's hands released Yuuri's wrists, fingers trailing down Yuuri's arms and underneath them, coming to rest at the bend of Yuuri's waist. Yuuri's desperation rattled inside him, protesting to the slower direction Victor was taking. Yuuri couldn't stand the emotion that threatened to leak into the spaces between if Victor didn't keep his body hot and hard against Yuuri's, if Victor wasn't going to drive the everything from him.  
  
'Let's do better than that,' Victor smirked, kissing Yuuri so lightly and beautifully that Yuuri was quite worried his heart couldn't take it. An escort couldn't trust kisses like that. Or at least, this escort couldn't. (But oh, Yuuri wanted to). Yuuri bit at Victor's lips, bottom one dragging between his teeth and Victor moaned sinfully, composure failing. Yuuri smiled in triumph.  
  
'Why don't you let me give you what you like?' Yuuri asked, breathy and unable to stop the need in his voice. The need to get out of his own skin and be whatever someone else wanted him to be. Victor seemed to pull himself out of the trance Yuuri had put him in, voltaic eyes narrowed with thought as they watched Yuuri.  
  
A hand drifted up from their grip on Yuuri's waist, Victor's thumb running along Yuuri's bottom lip, dragging the skin. Yuuri tried not to lean too obviously into the touch, but a small noise somehow got out of him anyway. Victor smiled, the edges of his fringe beginning to curl around his face as they air-dried. Yuuri loved his hair like that, never seeing it before. Not on a poster, not on Instagram. Like it was private how Victor's hair could curl like that.  
  
'I want to know what you like,' Victor purred, the invitation so tempting. Yuuri closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the dream he was currently in. 'I want to do only what you like.'  
  
Yuuri frowned, confused. Victor smiled wider, clearly pleased as Yuuri brought his hands down from over his head, unsure where to put them. Victor's eyes roamed over Yuuri's face for a moment, his eyebrows dropping with a soft smile.  
  
'I love that look,' Victor said and Yuuri gasped at the words, suddenly feeling trapped between Victor's weight and the door. How could Victor just- just _say_ something like that? Like it wasn't something that would ruin Yuuri just from hearing it? Victor kissed him again as his mouth fell open, Yuuri about to try a flirty comment to try and break the bizarre spell Victor had cast over him. Instead, Yuuri yielded to the kiss, following Victor's lips as he pulled away.  
  
_'Dorogoi,_ do you have any idea how beautiful you look when you're surprised? _'  
  
_ Again, Victor had Yuuri scrambling for a response. This was all a bit... Yuuri wasn't sure what it was but it wasn't normal. Yuuri knew he had to be careful. He had dreamed of meeting Victor, fantasised about what they were doing so many times when he had been younger that the hero worship had been reaching what Phichit had called _stalker levels._ ('And not the cute kind, Yuuri. The kind that boils the guy's bunny,' Phichit had actually said).  
  
(Yuuri put a stop to that thought quickly. He couldn't think of Phichit).  
  
Victor was famous for his romantic follies. Yuuri was a prostitute, that Victor had paid. No matter how sweet Victor was about it- that was the truth of it.  
  
Yuuri gave a curt shake of his head, smiling to himself at his own frivolity. Obviously Victor was intrigued; tempted by the mystery and thrill Yuuri's profession necessitated. He wasn't the first, he likely wouldn't be the last either. Yuuri had been doing this long enough to know better. Victor wasn't interested in who Yuuri really was, interested in Yuuri as a person.  
  
(He hadn't been interested last time they met either).  
  
'I thought this was about what I liked,' Yuuri flirted, with a confidence he didn't quite feel as he tried to exercise Eros' presence over the situation. He rolled his hips expertly, delighting in Victor's sharp intake of breath as their clothed cocks came together in a frustratingly slow grind.  
  
'Tease,' Victor scolded but going by the way his eyes turned dark, Yuuri felt sure that there was no punishment for such behaviour in their immediate future. If anything, Yuuri felt he was about to be quite generously rewarded. _  
_  
With one quick movement, Victor was all _go_ again and Yuuri was caught in the current of it. Swept out to sea.  
  
Victor kissed Yuuri like he was trying to discover something. Every press was slightly different, every swipe his tongue trying to find a new way to make Yuuri tremble. Yuuri could almost hear the blood pounding in his ears as his head hit the back of the door, Victor following him all the way forward. If it wasn't for Victor's weight to hold him up, Yuuri was half-afraid he'd fall. Yuuri held onto Victor's shoulders, whimpering into the kiss with need. It was a bit scary- the more Yuuri did this, the more Yuuri thought about what was really happening, the larger and more insane it felt.  
  
Victor Nikiforov. Was _kissing_ him. Was probably going to have sex with him. Again.  
  
If Phichit _knew_ -  
  
Yuuri jumped at the thought of Phichit, unbidden. He had been so angry, so mean. It was all so unfair. Yuuri broke the kiss, his emotions overcoming him for a moment, snuffing out the fire inside him.  
  
'Where are you, _miliy?'_ Victor murmured between kisses, hips canting forward where Yuuri felt the hard line of his cock press just against his own. They both sighed at the contact, but Victor's hold on Yuuri's face turned soft again, thumb deceptively sweet against his cheek. Yuuri flinched away instinctively, suddenly feeling far too concerned with reality to lose himself to Victor's tempting game again. Yuuri needed to get away, just for a minute. Just so he could put his thoughts back in order, get Eros back in control.  
  
Yuuri's hands came up between them, palms flat up against Victor's chest. Victor was so warm, Yuuri could feel it beneath the t-shirt. Yuuri was being so unprofessional. He should've known he wouldn't be able to handle this- whatever it was. Not with Victor. But Yuuri just wanted him so badly. If he could just get a moment to himself, just to get the right mindset. Yuuri watched as Victor pulled away, looking thoughtful.  
  
'What's wrong?' Victor asked, accent folding the _w'_ s to _v_ 's. Yuuri couldn't stop the shudder that went through him when he heard it. But the upset he felt; with Phichit, with the whole situation, twisted inside his stomach. It weighed him down and cooled his arousal right down, killing the mood. Victor kept touching Yuuri's face, thumb applying a little more pressure. 'Am I doing something you don't like?'  
  
Victor was smiling, slanted and inviting, but his eyes looked concerned. Yuuri tried to smile back.  
  
'Nothing is wrong, you're wonderful,' Yuuri said, the second half of the sentence coming out quietly breathless. Victor's eyes darkened when he heard it and Yuuri's ebbing arousal surged back in response, softening cock twitching a little. 'I- uh, I just... Sorry, just got lost a bit in my head there.'  
  
Victor was watching him very carefully, blue eyes lost to the bloomed arousal in them. But then he blinked slowly, hands coming away from Yuuri very softly, almost like he was coaxing somehow. Scared of frightening Yuuri off. (Like there was any chance Yuuri would leave Victor). Victor took Yuuri's hand, leading him further into the hotel room. Yuuri tried to feel relief, having the familiar status quo put into motion. All the lights were on this time though, casting little shadows in the small room. Victor led Yuuri to the bed, sitting him down but Victor didn't move to sit next with him. Yuuri could see that Victor was still aroused, but less obviously so. It was a strange thing, looking up from the bed like this. Yuuri tried not to feel nervous at the position.  
  
He tried not to let clients stand over him like that.  
  
'How about some tea?' Victor asked brightly, bow lip curved like a heart. Yuuri's mouth fell open before he could stop it, surprised. That- wasn't a question he was expecting.  
  
'Sorry?' Yuuri squeaked, flinching when he heard it and feeling the blush come before he could stop it. His voice hadn't squeaked since he was like eighteen. And _now_ it decided to try that embarrassing feature out again?  
  
Victor snorted at Yuuri's mortification, which only served to make it worse. Yuuri put his head into his hands, leaning down on his knees. This was a nightmare.  
  
'You're so cute,' Victor said, before turning and walking over to the desk facing the bed. Yuuri looked as Victor's bare feet vanish from behind his fingers. Victor kept talking, clearly happy to ignore Yuuri's complete breakdown; 'I think the fanciest thing in this complimentary basket is green tea. Is that okay? If not I can order some room service for you.'  
  
'Sounds great,' Yuuri mumbled dejectedly, unsure he was able to try anything else but agree to the situation for what it was now. Then Yuuri realised what Victor had said. He sat up straight, waving his hands in a mad motion; 'I mean no! No, no! You don't have to do that. I'm sure the tea is fine.'  
  
Victor chuckled again and Yuuri discovered it was possible for someone's laugh to kill you. Because hearing Victor laugh like that made all the air in Yuuri's lungs run out, like he was suffocating. It felt amazing.  
  
Victor left for a moment to fill the kettle with water from the bathroom sink. Yuuri watched him as he moved, taking in every little detail he could to try and stave off the thoughts about Phichit and their fight. It was difficult, but every time Yuuri felt like his thoughts would overwhelm him, he noticed something about Victor he didn't know.  
  
Like the fact that Victor's jeans were ever so slightly too long for him without shoes on, the cuffs on them bunched under his heels. The way Victor stuck his tongue out when he tried to understand the plug on the kettle. His slightly curly hair. Yuuri had never seen Victor's hair when it wasn't styled.  
  
They sat in silence for the whole thing, the only sound being the _vssh_ of the now boiling kettle. Yuuri watched as Victor fixed the two complimentary mugs upright, putting a tea bag in each. Yuuri liked the way Victor's muscles moved, the way his back rolled. He really liked it.  
  
'There,' Victor said at last, bringing the mug over to Yuuri, his own in his other hand. Yuuri took the mug carefully, glad to have something to focus on. He looked at the tea bag still sitting inside, watched the steam curl up. Victor sat down next to him. His shoulders brushed Yuuri's, all warmth. 'Now, why don't you tell me what's wrong?'  
  
'I'm so sorry,' Yuuri said quietly, ashamed of himself. 'This is terribly unprofessional.'  
  
'I don't mind!' Victor replied quickly, startling Yuuri so he sloshed his mug around. Yuuri looked at Victor, trying to read the expression on his face. Victor bit his lip, looking slightly sheepish. 'Sorry. Please, continue.'  
  
'There- there really isn't much I can say. I just have something on my mind,' Yuuri admitted, stammering a little with nerves. He really shouldn't be this honest. It was bound to put Victor off him. No one wanted an escort with _feelings._ Yuuri was a fantasy, someone the client could lose themselves in. Fantasies didn't have anxiety.  
  
'It's clearly bothering you,' Victor said gently, putting his own steaming mug on the floor by their feet. His hand was hot now, so hot Yuuri could feel it quite distinctly when Victor moved it to Yuuri's knee. 'Tell me about it. Talking about things always makes me feel better!'  
  
'Ugh.' Yuuri chewed the inside of his cheek, unsure. Then Victor smiled again, so earnestly and Yuuri gave in. 'I had a fight with someone.'  
  
Something crossed over Victor's face, shuttering emotion. But then it was gone, Victor's face skillfully blank.  
  
'I see,' he said slowly. Victor's grip on Yuuri's knee tightened slightly, fingers pressing in. 'Boyfriend?'  
  
Yuuri laughed, unable to stop himself; 'What? No. Definitely not.'  
  
'Was it that ridiculous a question?' Victor teased, hand now rubbing softly on Yuuri's knee. Yuuri watched his face, trying not to focus on his lips.  
  
'Boyfriends are not really-' Victor edged a little closer, his other hand coming around Yuuri's waist. Yuuri tried to hold his mug steady. 'I don't have a boyfriend.'  
  
'No?' Victor asked. He started the next sentence at length, voice low; 'So... you're not seeing anyone?'  
  
'Outside of work?'  
  
Victor blinked owlishly, eyes so blue.  
  
'Oh. Yes, of course. Outside of work.'

'No,' Yuuri confessed, hands coming around the mug. It was still too hot to hold with his palms, but Yuuri tried anyway. He looked away from Victor, focusing at the hotel wall.  
  
'Do you ever wish you did?'  
  
Yuuri thought about that for a moment.  
  
'No, not really,' Yuuri answered honestly. Victor's rubbing stilled a bit, just a quiet presence now. His fingertips stiff against the fabric of Yuuri's slacks. Yuuri shrugged, hoping to alleviate some of the awkwardness; 'I guess I never gave it much thought.'  
  
Victor didn't say anything for a long while, seemingly lost in thought and Yuuri was too nervous to speak himself. Instead, Yuuri just stared ahead at the wall, resting his mug against his other knee.  
  
'So, who do you have to fight with?' Victor asked after what felt like an age. Yuuri released his shoulders, not realising how tensely he'd been holding them. He turned back to meet Victor's gaze, loving the faded freckles Victor had.  
  
'My fla- friend. My friend,' Yuuri said, catching himself quickly before he revealed too much. Yuuri took a tentative sip of his tea. Still too hot. 'He's angry with me because I'm missing something of his tonight to be here.'  
  
'Because of me?' Victor queried and Yuuri nodded in reply. Victor was closer again, his body turned towards Yuuri now, chest against Yuuri's shoulders. Yuuri tried not to lean into him. _Tried_ being the operative word, as Yuuri found himself leaning into Victor anyway. Unable to resist. Victor suggested; 'Birthday?'  
  
'No. He's celebrating,' Yuuri said, looking over to Victor and seeing that they were very close now, his body caged almost by Victor's arm behind him and Victor's hand on his leg. 'He did really well today at- well...'  
  
Yuuri licked his lips, teetering on the edge of telling Victor the truth. Phichit probably wouldn't approve; he'd say Yuuri was being careless. Reckless, maybe. Yuuri huffed spitefully to himself, emboldened by the thought of taking this small advantage after Phichit had been so cruel earlier. Yuuri decided to push forward. It was his last night with Victor anyway, so what was the harm?  
  
'He's actually competing in Skate America,' Yuuri confessed before he could change his mind, trying not to feel nervous as Victor's eyebrows rose with surprise, mouth slipping open. 'He's currently in third place. He wanted to celebrate tonight. But I couldn't go-'  
  
'Who is he?' Victor interrupted immediately, blue eyes burning with interest. Yuuri leaned back slightly as Victor moved forward, clutching his mug defensively to his chest. Did Victor really pay that little attention to his other competitors?   
  
Maybe Yuuri had been wronging him all this time to think Victor found Yuuri just that unimpressive four years ago.  
  
'Chulanont. Phichit Chulanont,' Yuuri replied quietly, like maybe Victor wouldn't hear him as he was suddenly feeling very keen guilt at discussing Phichit with a client. Even if that client was Victor. But of course Victor heard him.  
  
'Celestino's guy?!' Victor exclaimed, looking even more excited. Then his smile dropped, eyes turning a deeper blue, like the colour was melting. 'Do you know him through- I mean, is he a client of yours?'  
  
'NO!' Yuuri cried, scandalised and using one of his hands to wave manically. Like the very thought of Phichit in that way was so insane it demanded to be physically pushed out of the conversation. 'Absolutely not. No way.'  
  
Victor smiled wolfishly, leaning forward to kiss Yuuri very lightly on the neck. Yuuri shivered, mug shaking slightly in his hand. Victor looked up at Yuuri, eyes still dark; 'Good. I'd have been jealous.'  
  
Yuuri didn't know what to say to that. Some clients teased about that before, but Yuuri had never had encountered jealousy properly. And though he knew Victor was joking, there was still some niggling voice in the back of Yuuri's head saying to make a note of it anyway. Another, deeper part of Yuuri was thrilled of the idea that Victor Nikiforov would be jealous over him.  
  
'So you do know about skating?' Victor ventured but Yuuri shook his head.  
  
'Ah, no! Not exactly.' Yuuri tried to backpedal, not wanting to undo all the distance he'd put between himself and the skating world of Victor. The lies came a little quickly, but not too rushed thankfully; 'I don't pay much attention. Only to what Phichit's doing really.'  
  
'Were you at the rink today?' Victor asked like Yuuri hadn't spoken, his eyes now dropping to Yuuri's chest. He looked like he was getting caught in his own thoughts. Yuuri nodded before he noticed that Victor still wasn't looking at him.  
  
'Yes.'  
  
'Did you see me skate?' Victor asked, looking up to meet Yuuri's eye. Yuuri swallowedd thickly, stomach tight with nerves. Not trusting himself to speak anymore, Yuuri nodded silently. Victor beamed, high cheeks turning slightly pink. 'Good! I so hoped you would.'  
  
'You- you did?' Yuuri was stunned. Victor Nikiforov had skated in competition with the hope that he, Katsuki Yuuri, would be watching? That was almost as good as when Victor skated for Yuuri alone the night before. Almost.  
  
'What did you think?' Victor continued, ignoring Yuuri's stammering. 'Did you like it?'  
  
'Of course I did!' Yuuri replied before he help himself. 'You were amazing! More than that.'  
  
Victor looked incredibly pleased. Smug almost. Yuuri blushed at his own excitement. Victor squeezed Yuuri's knee before leaning forward, closing the distance between them. He kissed Yuuri sweetly, just for a moment, before he was gone again. Yuuri's eyes fluttered, taken aback with how much he enjoyed the chaste kiss. Subconciously, Yuuri leant forward, after Victor's retreating lips.  
  
'I'm glad you thought so,' Victor said softly, not quite a whisper. 'Where's Phichit?'  
  
'Hmm?' Yuuri was distracted, unable to look away from Victor's lips, which were now open in a small laugh at him.  
  
'Your friend. Where has he gone for his celebration?' Victor asked again, Yuuri catching up enough to pay attention this time.  
  
'Oh. None of them are over twenty-one, so they're probably in the apartment,' Yuuri answered, unsure why Victor was asking. Yuuri froze when he realised what he had said, mentioning his home. He desperately thought back, relieved that he hadn't specified who's apartment.  
  
'Let me get dressed!' Victor exclaimed, hopping off the bed and gracefully side-stepping the mug he'd left on the floor. Yuuri frowned as he went, watching Victor go up to the wardrobe where some shirts were hanging and Victor's suitcase sat on the bench.  
  
'What? Why?'  
  
'I can't meet your friends looking like this, now can I? Never mind a fellow competitor!' Victor replied cheerfully, taking out a pair of dark trousers from the suitcase. Yuuri gaped, grip on his tea loosening a bit. Victor threw a look over his shoulder at Yuuri, eyes teasing. 'You should know better than anyone the importance of a good first impression!'  
  
Victor wanted to spend their appointment with Yuuri and his friends. In Yuuri's apartment.  
  
That was crazy. And that was saying something considering everything else that had already happened with Victor. But there was toeing the boundaries and then there was ignoring them completely. This time Yuuri had to be firm. He absolutely should not and would not let this continue. Victor was a client. A stranger that had hired Yuuri for sex. He most certainly could not meet Yuuri's friends and he was definitely not coming to Yuuri's home. Absolutely not. 

 

* * *

 

Victor and Yuuri were in a cab, on their way to Yuuri's apartment up in New Center.  
  
How this had happened, Yuuri was not entirely sure. But it was happening, despite all of Yuuri's protestations and lamenting. Victor had been insistent, saying he refused to be the reason Yuuri and Phichit fell out. He went on to say that having such things on his mind was bound to interfere with Phichit's skating, too. It was almost like he knew all of Yuuri's weakpoints and was specifically targeting them. Though Yuuri knew it was just because Victor seemed to be a decent person.  
  
A decent, completely insane person.  
  
Yuuri had tried calling Phichit, but the phone had rung out. Phichit was likely ignoring Yuuri's calls. It hurt, but Yuuri had been subject to the screening before. Excluding small room-mate spats, the last time they had fallen out properly was just after Phichit had recovered from his skating injury in sophmore year. It had been just as unpleasant then. Yuuri switched to texting, hoping Phichit would read them.  
  
**20:22PM** I know you're still mad. But I'm on my way home now.  
  
Yuuri tapped his foot nervously on the car-floor, fidgeting in his seat while he waited for Phichit to reply. Victor seemed perfectly happy to ignore Yuuri's fretting, instead watching Detroit pass slowly through the window as they ambled through the midtown traffic. When Yuuri's phone went off, he jumped, scrambling to open the message.  
  
**20:24PM** _Really? You cancelled your thing?  
  
_ Yuuri hovered his thumb over the iPhone keypad, afraid of Phichit's reaction. But better to bite the bullet now.  
  
**20:25PM** Not exactly. He's coming with me.  
  
Yuuri waited. Counted the streetlamps outside as his heart rabbited in his chest. One, two, three, four, five...  
  
_Beep-beep!  
  
_**20:26PM** _WHAT?! Are you crazy? (/`A´)/  
  
_**20:26PM** Just trust me! You'll understand when I get there.  
  
**20:27PM** _You can't explain now? Can I call you?  
  
_ Yuuri glanced over to where Victor was sitting. He was dressed beautifully now. Crisp white shirt with dark buttons under a light grey, patterned sweater and matching his straight trousers. Polished shoes and long, brown overcoat. He'd styled his hair, to Yuuri's silent disappointment. His skin caught the orange glow of the streetlamps like the ocean caught moonlight. Yuuri felt his heart twist, turn itself over as if it wanted to look at Victor itself.  
  
**20:28PM** No, not now. Phichit, I need you to trust me. Please. I know what I'm doing.  
  
Yuuri watched the little speech bubble signalling Phichit's reply this time instead of distracting himself. Forced himself to pay absolute attention, like somehow Phichit could feel the effort Yuuri was giving. The next message came through and somewhere, deep in Yuuri, a noose loosened.  
  
**20:28PM** _Alright. Fine. But only because you're you. (_ _･_ _ω_ _･_ _)v  
  
_**20:29PM** Thank you. （＾∀＾）There's some stuff I need to go through with you though. You can't mention that I live there. Lock my bedroom, key is in the kitchen drawer. And my name is Eros. Not Yuuri. Under all circumstances. Even if I catch fire you do not call me by my name. You wanted to be my back-up, so here we go. Okay?  
  
**20:30PM** _Okay. You can count on me. But you're crazy. You do know that right?  
  
_ Yuuri looked over to Victor, felt that tight feeling his in chest again.  
  
Yeah. He knew he was crazy.

 

 

* * *

 

 _'_ EROS!'  
  
Yuuri cringed instantly at Phichit's high voice and over-exageration. Really, he should've expected this. But still. Phichit opened the door widely, grinning with his eyes closed and Western music blaring in the background. Phichit was dressed a little nicer than usual, black shirt under a nice green sweater. But his black hair was still messy, bringing his smiling form together haphazardly. Yuuri tried to focus on his fondness for Phichit instead of the crushing embarrassment at Phichit's attempt of being _back-up._  
  
Phichit opened his eyes to the two of them, smile dropping instantly once his gaze moved over Yuuri's shoulder to where Victor was. Yuuri closed his eyes, dropping his head in exasperation at the impending disaster.  
  
'Oh,' Phichit said and Yuuri groaned. 'Woah-ohh, oh my GOD! _OH MY GOD!'  
  
__'_ Hello!' Victor boomed merrily, like this wasn't the most awkward introduction to ever happen in the history of introductions. 'We didn't get a chance to meet properly at the rink today. Victor, pleased to meet you!'  
  
Yuuri felt an arm come around his waist and opened his eyes to see Victor leaning across next to him with his hand outstretched towards Phichit. Phichit had his mouth open, grey eyes wide and shining. Yuuri looked between them, very conscious of Victor's arm wrapped possessively around him. Phichit reached out, almost in a trance and took Victor's hand, letting Victor shake it for them.  
  
'Yeah,' Phichit said slowly, whole body trembling for a moment. 'Uh-huh. Yep. Know who you are. Wow.'  
  
Phichit kept shaking Victor's hand, eyes seemingly stuck on Victor's face.  
  
Yuuri blushed terribly, mind struggling to catch up to the nightmare he currently found himself in. There was worlds colliding... And then there was this mess. If someone had told Yuuri last week that he was going to tell Phichit the truth about his career, and get hired by Victor Nikiforov, _and_ have both those things come together the weekend of Skate America, he would probably have laughed and then cried at them not to make fun of his dreams and nightmares like that.  
  
'Yu- _ros._ Eros,' Phichit stuttered, quickly changing course but not before Yuuri noticed his slip-up. He glared at Phichit, who finally managed to look away from Victor to meet the look Yuuri was throwing at him. Phichit seemed to be too in shock to take notice though. 'I didn't think when you said you had a- ah, guest that it would be Victor Nikiforov.'  
  
'Eros is full of surprises,' Victor chirped in and Yuuri was pretty sure that if the floor cracked open and swallowed him, he'd be fine with it. More than fine with it. In fact, Yuuri practically welcomed it, especially if Victor was going to be this unhelpful. Yuuri looked at where Phichit was still holding Victor's hand, even though their shake had long ended.  
  
' _Phichit,'_ Yuuri hissed, nodding his head towards their joined hands. That startled Phichit out of his reverie, where he let go of Victor's hand as if burned him. 'Can we come in?'  
  
'Oh, right! Yeah! Of course, come in!' Phichit spluttered, finally stepping out of the way to let Victor and Yuuri into the apartment. To Yuuri's embarrassment, Phichit also gave a quick bow. Then Yuuri realised the bow was for Victor, _not him._  
  
Once inside, Yuuri was relieved to see his bedroom door closed, happy that Phichit had listened to him.  
  
Victor's arm didn't move at all. If anything, he held onto Yuuri tighter. Where they were touching was warm, spreading heat all down Yuuri's spine. Yuuri really didn't want to move from this position, but there was no way he was going to be able to take his coat off with Victor holding him like that. Yuuri carefully moved Victor's arm off his, smiling as he did. Victor's face was genuine, squeezing Yuuri briefly before he let go.  
  
'Eros,' Phichit said, the name sounding extremely foreign in his voice. Like Phichit was choking on it somehow. Yuuri managed to look away from Victor, glancing over to Phichit. 'Could you help me with something? In the bedroom, just- just for a sec?'  
  
'Sure,' Yuuri replied, turning back to Victor. With Phichit there, watching, any confidence Yuuri had in he and Victor's arrangement vanished. Whereas Eros would simply lean up and kiss Victor's cheek, Yuuri was too nervous for that. Instead, he touched Victor's chest, fingers splayed. He watched Victor's face, focusing on his eyes; 'I'll be right back. The living room is just down the hall.'  
  
'I'll be waiting,' Victor purred, smile crooked. What Yuuri lacked, Victor evidently had in spades as he moved forward with no preamble, kissing Yuuri just a bit too hard. Yuuri yielded immediately, knees trembling and butterflies erupting in his stomach. Then Victor was gone, slipping down the hall as he shed his coat.  
  
When Phichit dragged Yuuri into his room, he shut the door with a shaking hand. Phichit turned to look at Yuuri, who was carefully avoiding his gaze by focusing on all the boxes Phichit hadn't unpacked yet. Phichit cleared his throat with exaggeration and Yuuri flinched inward, slowly beginning to take his coat off.  
  
'So, are we just going to ignore the fact that the guy who hired you, _as a freaking escort_ , is Victor Nikiforov?!' Phichit hurried out, waving his hands frantically towards Yuuri. Yuuri flushed again, shrugging awkwardly as he shook his coat down. 'And you _didn't_ tell me!'

'Ah...'  
  
'No wonder you didn't want to come. You should've just said.'  
  
'I wanted to explain in person,' Yuuri responded quietly. Phichit scoffed, sounding a bit manic.  
  
'Oh, well. You got the in-person bit down. So let's try the expla- what are you wearing?' Phichit trailed off, looking at Yuuri with a odd quirk in his eyebrows. Yuuri shifted uncomfortably, very aware of the feminine shirt and tight pants. Phichit shook his head, tossing his hand in Yuuri's direction; 'Never mind. Not important. What's important is that Victor Nikiforov, the man you've been in love with for about thirteen years is _in our living room!'_  
  
'Shh!' Yuuri cried, stepping forward to cover Phichit's mouth as he got too loud. Phichit widened his eyes at him but Yuuri kept talking; 'Careful, he might hear you.'  
  
'Mmf-o?' Phichit mumbled against Yuuri's fingers. Yuuri released him, but didn't move out of Phichit's space, just in case. Phichit stammered for moment before he continued; 'So? He must know that. Anyone who saw you skate at the Grand Prix that year would've seen you were a fan. Half your sillouettes were inspired by Victor!'  
  
Yuuri took his already quite worried bottom lip back into his mouth. Phichit recognised the gesture immediately, frowning slightly.  
  
'What? What is it?'  
  
'Victor doesn't...'  
  
'Doesn't what?' Phichit repeated at length. Yuuri took a very deep breath.  
  
'Victor doesn't remember me. He doesn't know I'm the same person,' Yuuri said very, very quickly, words tripping over each other. 'He doesn't know I was a skater and he definitely doesn't know I'm _that_ skater.'  
  
Phichit didn't say anything for a moment, eyes wide like saucers. Phichit then took Yuuri's hands in his own, putting both of them to Yuuri's chest and meeting his gaze very sternly. Phichit annuciated each word of his next sentence with a nod; 'Yuuri. That's messed up. That's really, really messed up.'  
  
'I _know_ ,' Yuuri whined, stomping his foot a little childishly. 'But please, just- just try to ignore that for tonight. Just a little bit.'  
  
'Ignore the fact that my best-friend is being paid by his childhood hero, who also happens to be my competitor, as an escort? Leading to five-time World Championship winner Victor Nikiforov being in our living room?' Phichit recited back like he was giving a statement in court. Before Yuuri could answer, Phichit's face grew pale. 'Oh my god.'  
  
'What?' Yuuri asked, but Phichit had already let him go and was opening the bedroom door. Phichit looked at him, panicked.  
  
'I just left Leo and Guang-Hong alone! In our living room, _with Victor Nikiforov!'_ Phichit exclaimed, before bolting down the hall. Yuuri sighed to himself, self-consciously adjusting his silk shirt. Time to face the music.

 

* * *

 

 

Phichit Chulanont, (who was, Victor now knew, the Thai representative), had a nice place. A really nice place, even if half of it still seemed to be in boxes. He must've moved in recently.  
  
But Victor was far more fond of Phichit's choice of friends.  
  
Eros was exceptionally different in Phichit's presence. The sexy, confident sensuality that Eros practically oozed over the last two evenings was completely gone in the small, intimate space of Phichit's living room. Eros was almost an entirely different person. He stuttered and mumbled his sentences sometimes, blushing very easily when Phichit would tease him. He held onto his bottle of cheap beer very tightly, fingers a little white with it.  
  
Victor adored every single thing he was doing. He loved the way Eros tucked stray hairs behind his ear cutely, the way he had his legs tucked up on the couch like he lived in Phichit's space. He was so comfortable, so happy to lean against Victor's shoulders surrounded by pop music and friends. Even though he pulled back when he noticed, Victor was happy Eros felt comfortable enough to lean. It was almost like they were on a real date. Like real people.  
  
It was wonderful and better than anything Victor could possibly have hoped for.  
  
Victor couldn't believe his luck. While at the start of the evening Victor had every intention of keeping his plan of 'staying in the professional boundaries' in motion, Victor couldn't resist the suggestion that he take Eros to see his friend. Eros had been so distracted, so upset. How could Victor just stand by and let that be?   
  
The party, if it could be called that, was a just the same group of three skaters Victor had seen in the rink that afternoon with some quiet drinks. Leo de le Iglesia, the only native American competitor this assignment and Guang-Hong Ji, the Chinese representative. Leo was tall and slender, long brown hair pushed back behind his ears and olive skinned. Guang-Hong was much shorter, every inch the blushing fan from beneath auburn curls and pale skin, like Eros'. They were both much younger than Victor had previously guessed and they were quite starstruck. Victor was no fool, he knew how he affected the younger skaters. It was still incredibly flattering how excited how they and Phichit were to have Victor join them.  
  
It was obvious that they hadn't met Eros before, Phichit having to introduce them once he and Eros had joined them. Victor thought it was sweet how eager they were to pay just as much attention to Eros, despite the fact they were in the middle of asking Victor to take some selfies with them. They were good people, as far as Victor was concerned. He was sorry he hadn't made more of an effort with them at the rink.  
  
But more than that, it showed how private Eros was as a person. The fact that he let Victor share this evening with him meant more than Victor was able to put into words.  
  
After Phichit told a particularly funny story about his coach, gaining even a chuckle from Victor who was well-acquainted with Celestino's drunken antics so late in his career, Eros gave up trying to keep any distance. He leaned fully against Victor now, head pillowed on Victor's shoulder. Victor preened, stomach fluttering with satisfaction. Phichit looked proud of himself from his perch on the coffee table, taking another sip of beer. The living room consisted of a small couch, which Victor and Eros were occupying and one arm chair to the left of the coffee table. On the armchair, Leo was sat with a fairly tipsy Guang-Hong teetering on the arm of it.  
  
'I think I've had too much,' Guang-Hong muttered, staring down at his bottle of half-drunk beer like it might bite him. Leo laughed at him quietly, taking the bottle from his hand to put on the table.  
  
'I'm surprised to find you drinking before the free-skate,' Victor scolded, though he held no true chide. Guang-Hong squeaked, Leo looking a bit sheepish. Eros looked up at him, one eyebrow raised and Victor laughed in spite of himself. Now who was being scolded?  
  
'It's only a little. They're fine,' Phichit replied, cheeks pink and hair even messier.  
  
'How did you even get the beer? I thought Americans were very strict about that,' Victor asked genuinely as Leo nodded in agreement, a hand now moving to hold Guang-Hong steady. Victor wasn't worried- it was still early and Guang-Hong had a lot of time to sleep it off. Besides, he was seventeen. His recovery period would be immaculate for another year at least.  
  
'I borrowed Eros' ID,' Phichit said, grinning wickedly. Victor couldn't stop the noise of delight that escaped him as Eros made a disapproving groan.  
  
'Really? You look nothing alike.'  
  
'You would be amazed at how racist Americans can be,' Phichit said matter-of-factly, causing Leo to cry out in protest with; 'Hey! Do not hold me accountable for white people!'  
  
Victor smiled to himself, weirdly self-conscious of the fact that he was not only the oldest person in the room, but also the only white person. It felt strange, to feel so aware of himself. It was new, to be so far away from his usual evening activities. To be in some twenty-year olds apartment in Detroit, with cheap American beer and Spotify playing on a ten-dollar portable speaker was a far, far cry from the concrete-walled loft clubs and cocktails of Moscow.  
  
Eros shivered next to him, bringing Victor's attention right back to him. Eros' pretty brown eyes were watching Phichit, mouth in a gentle smile. His gelled hair was coming away just a little and Victor was again struck with the image of what Eros might look like if he didn't style it. Victor was sure it would suit him, choppy bangs and dark fly-aways.  
  
'Are you cold?' Victor asked, arm that was keeping a chaste distance by being stretched out across the back of the couch now coming down around Eros' shoulders, pulling Eros closer to Victor. Eros blushed, eyes darting towards Phichit.  
  
'Um. Maybe. But I'm fine,' Eros said quickly, glancing up at Victor with his dark eyes. Victor felt his heart do that thing it always did when Eros looked at him like that. Like it was catching it's breath.  
  
'Why don't you grab a hoodie from- _my room?'_ Phichit suggested, words slowing down towards the end of the sentence like he had to think about them. Victor wondered if maybe it was Phichit that had had too much.  
  
'No! Really, I'm fine. I just need to figure out how to turn that heater on,' Eros said thoughtfully, looking over at the radiator that was under the window. Victor thought that was an odd thing to say. If anything, Phichit should be the one to have to learn how to do that.  
  
'Here,' Victor said, putting his beer on the ground and extraciating himself from Eros to pull his jumper off and over his head. Eros blinked at him, not getting the chance to speak before Victor gathered the jumper up and popped it over Eros' head. 'Wear this.'  
  
Eros was a deep red now, all the way down his cheeks, neck, beneath his deep blue collar. Victor wanted to follow the colour with his tongue, the thought suddenly very present and resistent to being put off. Eros mumbled a quiet _thank you_ before slipping his arms through the sleeves. It was too big for Eros, sleeves too long so they folded over his delicate wrists. Victor was struck immediately with how _good_ Eros looked in Victor's clothes. It made something inside him purr in satisfaction.  
  
The feeling only increased when Eros resumed his position back on Victor's shoulder. Victor put his arm back around Eros, enjoying the feel of his own sweater underneath his fingertips.  
  
The conversation continued cheerily for the next hour, drinking becoming less and less as people got more involved in their stories. Turned out Guang-Hong's go to topic was food and he raved to everyone about the delicacies of his home province, even turning boldly towards Victor to explain his love of _pirozhki_ of all things. Leo was quieter, usually interjecting tidbits for Guang-Hong and his stories. It was evident the two were friends outside of this. Victor wondered idly if they'd been assigned somewhere together before.  
  
Idly, because nearly all of Victor's attention was focused on Eros, who was drawing circles on Victor's thigh with his finger. He didn't seem to be aware of it, face turned towards the now very excited Guang-Hong as he tried to explain the difference between a crêpe and a galette, but if anything that made it even better. The fact that Eros was so happy to touch Victor, so comfortable to take that initiative. It made every nerve in Victor's body spark, sending messages up and down, between Victor's brain and his- well, the point was that Victor was enjoying it all very much.  
  
Victor's thoughts were interrupted by the loud noise of a camera shutter. He just caught Phichit with his phone up as Eros cried out in protest, hand leaving Victor's thigh to make a stopping gesture.  
  
'Phichit!'  
  
'Sorry! I couldn't resist!' Phichit said, though he didn't look all that sorry about it. 'Just Instagram, _please!'_  
  
'No,' Eros said sternly and Phichit pouted profusely. Eros replied, now in a different language. It could've been Japanese, could've been Thai even. Victor hadn't a clue. But the sound of it coming out in Eros' voice sent all thought tumbling south. He crossed his legs, hopefully discreetly as Eros sat up as he spoke.  
  
'Do you have an Instagram?' Victor asked, interrupting the fast language, whatever it was. Phichit looked at him, dark eyes shimmering with delight.  
  
'Yes!' Phichit exclaimed, instantly turning his phone over to show Victor the screen. Victor blinked at the brightness for a moment. 'Would you like to follow me?'  
  
'Of course! Especially if you take such embarrassing photos of my little _katsudon_ ,' Victor answered, taking Phichit's phone for a moment to read his username. The room fell silent, even Guang-Hong and Leo's conversation ending as Eros squeaked exceptionally loudly at Victor's words. Phichit looked at Victor like he had given him a great gift. Victor looked around at all of them; 'What is it?'  
  
'W-what did you call me?' Eros asked quietly, eyes now solely focused on Victor. Victor thought back and felt himself grow hot under the collar.  
  
Fuck.  
  
He had only called Eros that in his head. Only a little. Not even enough for it to really count as a nickname. But the word had been so cute the way Eros had said the night before, Victor looking it up on Google Translate specfically so he could try and recreate the way the letters tumbled together so fluidly. He really hadn't meant to, only thinking of calling Eros that in a teasing way. Victor had hoped that by showing Eros he was paying attention to the things Eros told him, to the things he liked, Eros would be more inclined to share more.  
  
Right now though, he probably thought Victor was insane. Still, no reason to panic. Victor had been in worse situations. He could charm his way out of this, too.  
  
'Which? _Katsudon?'_ Victor said casually, turning his palm nonchalantly. 'I thought it was cute.'  
  
'It's...' Eros swallowed and Victor tried not to stare at his bobbing adam's apple. From here, Victor could just about spot the bite he'd left on Eros' neck, red edges tipping over the hem of his own sweater. 'It's not really a pet-name.'  
  
'I can't believe it,' Phichit breathed out before erupting into laughter, leaving a very confused looking Guang-Hong and Leo to stare between the three of them. 'You told him about the pork-cutlet bowls?!'  
  
And then Phichit was laughing again, Leo turning to Guang-Hong and asking quietly; 'What's a pork-cutlet bowl?'  
  
Eros put his face in his hands, clearly embarrassed and Victor felt his heart tug at the sight. He hoped Eros didn't mind too much. Feeling bold, Victor leaned across the couch to gather Eros back into his arms, urging him to fall with him back against the pillows. It was a bit forward and probably a bit personal, but Victor couldn't resist leaving Eros on his side of the couch quietly mortified.  
  
'I'm sorry, _miliy,'_ Victor said genuinely, switching back to the Russian and kissing the top of Eros' head. Eros made another small squeak, burying his face into Victor's chest. If this was how Eros reacted to _katsudon,_ it was probably very good that he didn't understand what Victor was calling him the rest of the time. If Victor decided to tell him, he was definitely going to do so in private. If the reaction was anything like this one, then Victor wanted to keep it for himself.  
  
There was the sound of the camera on Phichit's phone going again, causing Eros to break out of his embarrassed stupor. He threw something at Phichit in the other language again, gaining a reply from Phichit that was just as incomprehensible. Phichit was still smiling though, so whatever they were talking about, Phichit clearly wasn't in that much trouble.  
  
'It's getting late,' Eros said, pulling away from Victor slightly. He met Victor's gaze and Victor was taken aback by the heat in his eyes. The reason Victor had crossed his legs became vividly apparent once again. 'I think we should head off. After all, you all have a competition tomorrow.'  
  
'Will you be watching again?' Victor asked because he wanted to know and he couldn't stop himself. Eros smiled slyly and the coy nature of his professional persona was beginning to edge it's way back in. Victor smiled back in anticipation, looking forward to reacquainting himself with that part of Eros. Especially now he had all these new facets to apply as well.  
  
'Let's go,' Eros whispered, slinking of the couch in a way that was practically sinful. Victor even caught Leo glancing over from the armchair, cheeks red and not just from the beer.  
  
Victor took Eros' hand, using the other to aimlessly give Phichit's phone back to him.  
  
'Okay.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorogoi - darling
> 
> This was delayed due to the fact that my bf surprised me with a small getaway and I couldn't take my laptop with me. So I'm very sorry about that. On the plus side- two chapters this week! x
> 
> Who didn't want Phichit and Victor interactions? Because if you didn't I'm sorry. But this is the start of a beautiful friendship. 
> 
> Yuuri's shirt, if any of you were wondering; https://www.everlane.com/products/silk-blouse-navy?collection=womens-silkblouses
> 
> \---
> 
> Also I made a dedicated side-blog for YOI as well. If you guys have any questions, or just want a chat feel free to hit me up there. Mostly it's just shameless reblogging of adorable Victuuri art.
> 
> https://victorsporosya.tumblr.com/


	7. Available

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Yakov's troubles begin.

Yuuri pushed Victor down onto the hotel bed, barely giving Victor the chance to get his balance before Yuuri was straddling his lap.  
  
Victor had been in Yuuri's home. He had sat with Yuuri's friends, drank beer bought with Yuuri's ID. Sat on Yuuri's couch, played with Yuuri's hair and it had been the most intoxicating and bizarre forms of intimacy Yuuri had ever experienced with anyone.

Yuuri had never felt more dangerously exposed, never felt as dizzingly alive as he did right now. Like Victor was more than air; it was like he was a storm. Electric, thundering- splitting Yuuri's life open like lightning splits the sky.

Coming down onto Victor's lap, thighs on either side of his waist, Yuuri ground down with very deliberate purpose, cock growing as Victor moaned from it. He could feel Victor getting hard beneath him, heard the way Victor's breath was catching.

Victor's hands came up immediately, one at the junction of Yuuri's hip and the other into Yuuri's hair, tilting his head so that when Victor kissed him, it was all deep and easy give.

Yuuri groaned loudly, rolling his hips down and deliriously chasing the insane, spiraling feeling that Victor gave him. That letting Victor in gave him.  
  
Before Yuuri could do any more, his watch beeped. Victor froze and Yuuri did, too. Stomach dropping, Yuuri quickly made a decision. He'd already broken so many rules... What was one more?  
  
Yuuri brought his wrist up to his mouth, pulling the watch's strap out of it's loop with his teeth as Victor watched, blue eyes wide with shock as he did so. Yuuri then scrambled to turn the alarm off, to get the watch off. He threw it across the bed, up by the pillows.

Yuuri was breathing so heavily, panting really, with nerves. He ran his hands up and down Victor's chest, too full of brimming energy to stop moving.   
  
'I didn't hear anything,' Yuuri said quietly, hoping Victor would want what he wanted. 'Did you?'  
  
Victor blinked at him for a moment, then he smiled and it was beautiful. 'Not a thing.'  
  
'Does your offer still stand?' Yuuri mumbled against Victor's lips, tasting beer on his breath. Victor chased the words, tongue spreading Yuuri's lips open in an obscene _o_ , corners of his lips too wet. Dripping almost from the intrusion.  
  
'Wh- which? What?' Victor stammered, eyes closed and clearly no longer paying attention to anything but the way Yuuri pressed his tongue up against Victor's own between gaping lips.

Yuuri smirked, so happy to have Victor this way. Victor's hands moved without purpose, rubbing up and down Yuuri's sides, pressing down low on his back towards his ass- like Victor couldn't decide what he wanted to hold onto.  
  
'Will you- _ah, Victor!'_ Yuuri practically sobbed when Victor licked down from his mouth, along his jaw. It was so raw, so wet and Yuuri was so hard now. He wanted Victor so badly. Wanted Victor to crawl even more into his life, into his skin. Yuuri bounced a little on Victor's lap, simpering with the need. 'Will you make me feel good?'  
  
Suddenly, there was a hand in Yuuri's hair again. His head was tugged backwards, back arching with the force and his throat exposed. Yuuri closed his eyes, breath so heavy and ass still slowly grinding onto the stiff cock beneath him.

A hot mouth pressed a kiss to Yuuri's throat, then another and another. Yuuri moaned as Victor's tongue slipped out of his mouth, twirling around the soft skin of his neck.  
  
_'Kotenok,'_ Victor growled into his throat and Yuuri keened at the sound of it, the Russian like a beacon of reality that made everything feel so much more tangible. That yes, this was really Victor Nikiforov. Victor Nikiforov was going to do this to Yuuri- _again_. Maybe even better than the first time. 'I want to make you feel so good that I ruin you for anyone else. I want to do things to you that no one else can.'  
  
Yuuri whimpered, something hot prickling in the corners of his eyes but he kept them firmly shut, refusing to give into the emotion. The words were like molten metal, liquid and pooling in the spaces Yuuri and Victor had created between them where the lines of _professionalism_ should've been.

But Yuuri didn't care. And when Victor's other hand trailed down, gripping suddenly so tight over Yuuri's cock, Yuuri felt like he was sparking from the inside out.  
  
'Vic- ah, ah, Victor!' Victor tightened his grip, Yuuri's hips immediately canting forward into the touch.  
  
'I want you to tell me what you want, _pupsik,'_ Victor purred as he dragged his lips along Yuuri's throat, finally making it as far as his chin.

He took Yuuri's bottom lip between his teeth, sucking so hard it pulled but Yuuri just couldn't stop focusing on the feeling of his hips bucking into Victor's tight grip over his cock. He could feel the dampness in his trousers already, budding wetness with need. Yuuri scrambled his hands over Victor's shoulders, painfully aware that they were both still so dressed and they needed to _not be_ and soon.  
  
'Tell me. _'_ A bite this time, the hand on Yuuri's cock now twisting to try and bury itself beneath the waistband of his trousers.  
  
'You,' Yuuri gasped as Victor's hand made it to his aching erection, awkward with the tight confines of Yuuri's slacks, but so, so hot.

Victor wrapped his hand around Yuuri's cock, thumb teasing the slit and dipping into the beading wetness there. Yuuri whined as Victor cursed in English under his breath. Yuuri grinded forward into Victor's hand, desperate for more. 'I want you. Now, _please._ '  
  
'Good. Like that,' Victor said and Yuuri preened at the praise, feeling hot blush erupt on his cheeks and overflow, down his neck in flushing heat. 'But let's do better.'  
  
Yuuri managed to open his eyes at last, Victor's hand still buried in his hair, so he could mostly only see Victor through his lashes. Victor was smiling so wickedly, silver fringe flared around his face like a glittering fan.

Victor squeezed Yuuri's cock suddenly, thumb slipping more firmly between the slit and Yuuri couldn't even make a nosie, the pleasure was too intense. He just choked, trying not to lose Victor's gaze.  
  
'Tell me what to do. _Exactly_ what to do,' Victor drawled, releasing Yuuri's hair to drag his hand down Yuuri's neck, his chest, around his waist.

Victor pulled Yuuri flush against him, hand on Yuuri's cock now even more stuck. Victor was watching Yuuri with his blue, blue eyes. Swirling, like they were carrying the storm Yuuri was swept up in.  
  
'Clothes. Off,' Yuuri managed to grit out. Victor smirked, teeth pointed and something shivered through Yuuri like the chimes his sister used to make.  
  
'You, too.'  
  
It was extremely hard to disentangle themselves from each other, but once they did Yuuri took no pretense. He was chasing something- a high, a fuck, both?

Yuuri wasn't sure. Victor was something alien, foreign in every sense of the word and he was snipping through the seams of Yuuri's carefully constructed life. And Yuuri wanted every moment of it. Soon, all the clothes were gone and Victor just kicked his own trousers away before Yuuri froze, stunned.  
  
He had forgotten. Which sounded so stupid, but it was true. Yuuri had forgotten how beautiful Victor was. He found himself staring, tracing the lines of Victor's abs with his eyes. The bend of his arms and the tuck of his knees.

Victor's cock was not overly long, but it was thick. Thicker than his physique would suggest and Yuuri's own twitched against his stomach at the sight of it. The body Yuuri had admired for so long, had so desperately wanted to achieve. And there it was- there _he_ was, standing right before Yuuri like a dream.  
  
'Come here, _miliy,'_ Victor said, chuckling with amusement. He must've noticed Yuuri staring. Victor took Yuuri's hand, guiding him back to the bed.  
  
This time, Victor was the one who pressed Yuuri to the mattress. But Victor was all care, all gentle. He nudged Yuuri up and along until Yuuri's head was beneath the pillows. Yuuri tried not to breathe too heavily, but his chest was heaving anyway with adrenaline.

Yuuri could feel his heart pounding, heard it thumping in his ears as Victor crawled over him, almost touching but not. Yuuri arched his back, needing to feel him.  
  
Victor leaned down and kissed him, Yuuri's mouth falling open at once for him. Victor's tongue rolled in and out of Yuuri's mouth, barely brushing against Yuuri's own until Yuuri got the idea, letting his mouth lie passively open as Victor's began to fuck into it slowly with wet, slick movements.

It was like Victor was picking up where they had left off earlier in the evening, only everything was so much hotter now with nothing between them. Yuuri bent his hips up, his cock just brushing along the drop of Victor's balls and they both groaned from the contact, Victor suddenly pressing down hard on Yuuri's body. Burning skin, down every inch.  
  
Breaking the kiss, Victor stared down at Yuuri with his lips shining. His high cheeks were a deep red and Yuuri knew he probably wasn't doing much better. Then Victor was back down again, small, chaste kisses along Yuuri's jaw, up his cheek.  
  
'What next?' Victor asked and it took Yuuri far too long to catch up to what exactly Victor was asking.

Victor pulled back, looking at Yuuri with eyes so dark it was the like the low glow of the bedside lamp was being dragged into them, leaving Yuuri stumbling blindly. Victor's lips tweaked, just a little, just at the corner. He rolled his hips down, his thick cock sliding against Yuuri's and leaving sticky precum in a line on Yuuri's abdomen.

'Do you want to fuck me, _pupsik?'  
  
_ Those words, from Victor Nikiforov- Yuuri arched off the bed, cock straight up against Victor's and neck curved as a strangled whimper escaped Yuuri.  
  
_'Yes,'_ Yuuri moaned, breathless and starting to rut upwards now, mind lost to the very image of having Victor beneath him, of feeling Victor around him... Yuuri hadn't topped in so long. It wasn't a frequent request of his clientele.  
  
'God, look at you,' Victor said, accent so thick it stuck on his lips and Yuuri pulled him down with a hand around his nape, hoping to taste it.

Like he could lick the Russian snow off Victor's lips, could swallow the Moscow summer. Yuuri pushed his tongue into Victor's mouth, taking control with both hands now holding onto Victor's neck, anchoring Yuuri half-off the bed as he bent up to meet Victor for the deep kiss.  
  
'One moment, _pupsik,'_ Victor said between Yuuri's eager presses, leaning over the bed to fumble with the bedside drawer.

He returned with a bottle of Durex and a string of condoms. He threw them haphazardly by Yuuri's shoulder, one of his elbows bending too far and he fell down on top of Yuuri, to Yuuri's immense delight.  
  
Yuuri ran his hands down Victor's shoulders, feeling the hard muscle there. He experimented, pressing his fingers in and meeting stiff resistance. It tore a groan out of him, knowing he was holding someone so strong, so powerful in his hands like he had Victor pinned.

It was heady, drunken how it stilled Yuuri's breath. Victor was so fit, so talented. He was going to do amazing tomorrow. More than that probably. He was going to be breath-taking.  
  
Almost illegibly, the thought crossed over Yuuri's mind and he stopped Victor when the man went to move off him. Victor watched him with curious eyes, hair falling between them.  
  
'W-wait,' Yuuri said and it didn't sound nearly as assertive as he hoped it would.  
  
Yuuri shifted beneath them, cocks brushing together again and Yuuri groaned as Victor whined at the contact. Yuuri didn't know Victor; not like this. There was no way he could be sure that he wouldn't do some damage.

Yuuri was not going to be the reason Victor Nikiforov couldn't land his quads tomorrow afternoon. Would Victor even understand? Yuuri wasn't sure.  
  
But Yuuri was sure they could compromise.  
  
'You told me not to- not to...' Yuuri trailed off, suddenly self-conscious. Which was utterly bizarre but Yuuri could feel the tell-tale flush spread. Blooming hot over his chest. Victor watched him, one hand running up and down Yuuri's side and the other now holding Yuuri's face steady. Yuuri swallowed, hips squirming with the need to find friction. 'You said you wanted to... That you wanted-'  
  
'I wanted to open you up,' Victor finished for him and Yuuri almost sighed with relief.

Yuuri nodded, not trusting himself to speak because now that it was out there, Yuuri wanted it. Exactly like that. Yuuri hadn't had anyone other than himself do that for quite sometime. Maybe even longer ago since the last time he had topped.  
  
'Will you?' Yuuri asked, shy and nervous because he knew Victor suggested the other way around and he hoped so desperately that Victor wouldn't be disappointed.  
  
But Victor just grinned and it was like all the stars were burning, setting Yuuri's universe ablaze.  
  
'You're perfect,' Victor said and Yuuri was so taken aback that it was that surprise that caused him to squeak, not Victor suddenly gripping his waist so tightly it could bruise.

Victor kissed Yuuri's jaw, his throat, his collarbone. Went to where the bite he'd put there himself sat, tracing it's blurring edges with his teeth. Yuuri keened beneath him, felt precum bead and pool like a shiver. Felt as it started to slip down the length of his cock in anticipation, almost itching.  
  
Victor bit him and given all their past experiences together, Yuuri should've expected it but he still yelped in shock, back off the bed and his cock _throbbing._ Victor leaned back, lifting himself up on his elbows and watching Yuuri from this height.  
  
'Do you trust me?'  
  
'Yes,' Yuuri said before he could think. Victor kissed the hollow of Yuuri's throat.  
  
Then Victor was taking Yuuri's hands in his own, lifting them up and over Yuuri's head and it was the third time he'd done this and Yuuri was pretty sure Victor had a kink going on there, but he was perfectly happy to go along with it. Victor pinned Yuuri's hands above his head, blue eyes sharp like the edge of a skate.  
  
'Can you hold your hands here?' Victor asked, voice low and his accent narrowing the vowels until they were pointed.

Yuuri nodded, mouth open in a pant as Victor had started to move his hips now. Slow, rolling ruts that set off fireworks at every point they were touching. Yuuri's cock was so hard, so in need of attention and Yuuri wondered when was the last time he'd waited so long for things like this to get started.  
  
Victor leaned down and kissed him again, tongue forceful and Yuuri almost choked on it.  
  
'Good boy.'  
  
The praise was the strike to the matchstick arousal of the whole situation as Yuuri felt his cock twitch with it, stomach tying itself into the tightest knot it possibly could. Victor made a small noise of approval, which only served to make it worse and Yuuri turned his face into his shoulder.  
  
'No,' Victor said, suddenly stern. A hand took Yuuri's chin, guiding Yuuri back so he was looking at Victor again. 'Don't hide your face from me.'  
  
Yuuri met Victor's gaze, mouth stuttering when a warm hand came around his cock. Victor squeezed it, thumb rolling the foreskin and movement slow, but Yuuri found himself rutting up into it instantly, desperate for Victor's touch. Yuuri kept his hands where Victor wanted them, fingers twisting around in each other in an attempt to hold on.  
  
Releasing his face, Victor kissed down Yuuri's chest, hand on his cock beginning to move in earnest now, foreskin dragging wetly over the head when Victor's fingers would bunch it. Yuuri was wiggling underneath him, body humming beneath the skin with mounting arousal.

Victor reached over for the condoms, Yuuri ignoring the scrambling to watch the descending trail of Victor's hair as it skimmed down across his skin.

With a groan of disappointment, Yuuri watched as Victor let his cock go to open a packet, hissing when Victor started to roll the cool, lubricated condom over him. Yuuri's hips canted upwards into the motion, excitement bubbling inside him, threatening to erupt. Victor looked so good- sat back on his knees, over Yuuri, just like that.  
  
Better than anything Yuuri could ever have imagined. Better than the first time.  
  
Then without any preamble, Victor bent down low and took Yuuri in his mouth and Yuuri almost screamed with surprise, the heat of Victor's mouth almost entirely alien.  
  
Yuuri started moving before he could stop himself. Hips bucking, cock sliding between Victor's lips as Victor's tongue pressed flat against the underside of the shaft. Victor took it so deep, deeper than Yuuri could ever have expected and Yuuri groaned loudly when the head met resistance at the back of Victor's throat.

It took everything Yuuri had not to fuck straight up into that tightness. He closed his eyes as Victor hollowed out his cheeks with a strong suck, hands twisting above him.  
  
Victor sucked him a little roughly, perhaps how he liked to be blown himself. Tongue hard in very demanding licks, lips tight and throat easily working around the intrusion as Victor would plummet Yuuri's cock down it when he'd sink lower.

It was so incredibly hot, to have Victor Nikiforov on his knees, with Yuuri's cock in his mouth. When Victor made a deep, grumbling noise of pleasure around it, Yuuri felt his cock leak with it as he moaned.  
  
There was some movement from Victor, but he kept his mouth firm around Yuuri, head bobbing now with slick ease, combined lubricant and pooling salvia. Yuuri forced his eyes open, growling with a strong surge of possessive he didn't even know he was capable of as he saw Victor, hair twirled and mussed around his face like a halo around the most sinful thing.

Yuuri _wanted_ him. All for himself, for as long as he could.  
  
Yuuri barely noticed that Victor was fidgeting with something until he felt the cool tip of a finger at his entrance, lube slick and testing. Victor slid slowly off Yuuri's cock, lips shimmering with wet from his ministrations.  
  
'All good, _miliy_ _?'_  
  
Yuuri whined at the Russian. It could mean anything- babe, sweetheart, _whore._

But it didn't matter because coming from Victor's mouth it sounded almost as good as hearing his own name. Victor hadn't called him _Eros,_ not once throughout their evening.

That dangerous, swooping adrenaline Yuuri felt when Victor got too close exploded inside him again and Yuuri ground his hips downwards, meeting the resistence of Victor's hand. Victor swore again as his eyes dropped to watch Yuuri's grind, in Russian- but no matter the language, Yuuri always knew a swear when he one.  
  
'Victor,' Yuuri said breathlessly, arms rolling in tight motions and back bending. He waited for Victor to look at him again, for his dark eyes to meet Yuuri's and the moment their eyes met, Yuuri felt like his heart was folding itself in half. Bent down the middle with sheer want. 'Please. Touch me. Make me feel good. Please...'  
  
Victor didn't need to be told twice, as he pushed his finger in with no more teasing.  
  
Yuuri grunted stiffly with the invasion, though truthfully, Victor's finger slid in with quite some ease. Yuuri had only been stretched the night before, had stretched himself so often before then.

Recovery periods tended to be quite long now, if Yuuri was able to have them. Most days Yuuri didn't get a chance to tighten up completely. But after all the hours between now and their last appointment, Yuuri's body had started to retreat and the feeling of Victor's finger felt so intimate.  
  
Starting from the beginning, having a stranger- _Victor_ \- do this for him was so unusual. The fact that Victor _wanted_ to, was taking his time with slow, easy presses made something old and fragile awaken in Yuuri. Something Yuuri had long buried.  
  
'You feel amazing,' Victor said, eyes now entirely focused on where he was teasing Yuuri's entrance. Yuuri watched him, panting and grinding down onto Victor's hand. 'You're so good for me, so good...'

Yuuri moaned loudly when Victor added a second finger as he praised him, rim stretching now properly. Victor used his other hand to pour lube down on Yuuri's perineum, letting the viscous liquid drip and pool down to where Victor was starting to scissor him.

Yuuri whined at the feeling, the chill and the dirtiness of it. It felt so lewd, so careless. Lube dripped down from where Victor was fucking him with his fingers, Yuuri could feel it coat his inner thighs and it had Yuuri's cock pulsing with desire.  
  
_I want you,_ Yuuri thought desperately, now moving with purpose as his ground his hips down, stammering breath as he took Victor deeper with each roll. _I want you._ Victor scissored his fingers a little wider, stretching Yuuri's hole with a filthy squelch from the lube. _I want you._ Victor continued the motion as Yuuri met it with his thrust downward, keening now with lust. _I want you._ With a careful bend, Victor turned his hand slightly and curled his fingers, tips hard and pressing suddenly against Yuuri's prostate. Yuuri squealed at the touch, eyes sparking as Victor pressed on the nerve again, and again, and again-  
  
_I always have. I may always will.  
  
_ Suddenly, Victor was pulling out of him and Yuuri whimpered at the emptiness. He opened his eyes, about to ask before Victor put an arm under each of Yuuri's legs, tugging him up as Victor sat back. Yuuri's eyes widened, understanding just beginnging to come together as Victor winked, brilliant grin on his face shining like the sun.  
  
Then Victor surged forward, mouth open and so very, very hot against Yuuri's hole and everything went quiet. Yuuri couldn't even moan, couldn't breathe as he felt Victor kiss him where he was most vulnerable, most open.

Victor traced his tongue around Yuuri's entrance, the feeling so wet and firm, almost ticklish as it skimmed across Yuuri's sensitive skin. Then Victor was pressing in, sloppy, sucking kisses as Victor's tongue pushed inside of Yuuri.  
  
Yuuri broke Victor's rule, a hand flying down from where he'd put them to bury itself in Victor's hair. Victor was sucking so lewdly and loud, tongue in shallow thrusts forward into Yuuri's already open body.

It felt like too much and not enough, all at the same time. The sensitivity was so great that Yuuri found himself squirming from it while also desperately wishing that Victor's tongue could get in deeper, _fuck him deeper._  
  
'Ah- oh, Vic-tor!'  
  
Name broken, panting. Yuuri couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but sob as the pleasure started to mount insided him. When Victor stretched one of Yuuri's legs over his shoulder to free a hand, Yuuri was sure he almost came when that hand came to join Victor's tongue, two fingers slipping in beneath it with slick ease.  
  
It was too much. It had to be. Yuuri whined loudly, maybe even cried out and Victor continued to scissor him, tongue fucking between the stretching fingers in the wet.

When Victor added a third finger, Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut and moved to grab his own cock, tight grip on the base to stop himself from coming as Victor found his prostate again.  
  
That was- new. It was exciting. It was the most addicting thing Yuuri had ever had. Victor Nikiforov, _on his knees_ , doing _this_ to him, Katsuki Yuuri. Of all the underserving people in the world.  
  
'Vic-Victor, _ahh._ Please!'  
  
Victor pulled his mouth away, teeth nipping at the inside of Yuuri's thigh as his fingers continued moving, stretching Yuuri so wide.  
  
'Please what?' _  
  
_ 'I- ah, I want you. You asked- you wanted to know what I- _oh!_ What I wanted... I need you to be in me, please, now. _Now.'_  
  
The words were garbled, panting. Maybe a bit demanding. Yuuri's desperation obvious but he was so lost in the haze of the pleasure Victor was giving him that he just couldn't find it in himself to care.  
  
'Anything, _miliy._ Anything you want.'  
  
When Victor pulled his fingers out, Yuuri groaned loudly, screwing his eyes shut in anticipation. He lost himself to the blackness as Victor spread Yuuri's legs open, one hand holding his left leg up beneath the knee. The other sought out a condom and Yuuri tried to steady his breathing as Victor opened the foil packet.

Then Victor was lined up, slicking the thick head that was pressing warm against Yuuri's entrance with lube. Yuuri canted downwards, as if he could imaple himself.  
  
'Look at me,' Victor growled, English torn up.  
  
Yuuri squeezed his eyes open, staring up at Victor from beneath his lashes. Victor looked a wreck- red faced, hair frizzing. But his eyes were so dark, burning like something unstable. Yuuri let out a shuddering breath at the sight as slowly, oh so slowly, Victor pushed forward.  
  
Victor had looked big, but felt bigger. It hurt more than last time, though not unbearably. Victor didn't know how to stretch Yuuri as well as Yuuri could stretch himself, but it didn't matter, not at all.

Because Yuuri had never felt anything as good as the burn of Victor's cock sliding into him. He was so slick from their excess lube and the work of Victor's tongue that it really didn't take much before Victor was buried to end of his shaft in Yuuri.

Yuuri sobbed, uncontrollable lament as his body tightened around Victor, shaking him apart.  
  
They both paused, trembling and hissing. Yuuri lost his gaze, unable to stop his head from rolling back and eyes closing to the pleasure. Victor's grip on Yuuri's leg turned hard and his other hand found itself gripping at Yuuri's hip as Victor leaned a bit back on his knees, pulling Yuuri forward with him so they wouldn't lose even a centimetre between them. It bent the angle, made it even more acute and Yuuri curved his back, chasing the feeling.  
  
He felt so _full._ Abstractly, one of his hands made it's way to his stomach, lower, as if Yuuri could somehow feel how deep Victor was in him through his skin. His other hand flailed upwards, meeting the padded headboard where it acted as some sort of brace.  
  
Victor held him there for a moment, his breathing so heavy that it felt like Yuuri could feel it falling down onto him from where Victor was. It was heady, suffocating. Yuuri wanted to drown in the attention Victor was giving.

Clearly, Victor was waiting for him to adjust but Yuuri was too eager. He couldn't wait anymore, not for this. With a whine of impatience, Yuuri bucked down onto Victor, causing him to gasp with shock.  
  
Then Victor moved- pulling out before thrusting back in with a force that shoved Yuuri up the bed.

Yuuri cried out, Victor's cock hitting his prostate immediately with a sharp jab that felt like it had splintered him apart. Victor made that low growl again. The sound of it lit a fire in Yuuri's stomach as Victor began to fuck into him with earnest now, spreading Yuuri's leg up further so Victor managed to slip impossibly deeper.  
  
'Victor, Victor...' Yuuri whimpered, voice turning sharp as his words faded away to small, bursting gasps.

It felt too good, too much to just lie there but Yuuri found he could little else as Victor fucked him with such force that the headboard shook beneath Yuuri's skittering fingertips.  
  
Victor held Yuuri close to him, barely giving enough space for his thrusts to be anything more than a frantic, piston motion. But each one hit Yuuri right where he needed to be hit, the wet sound of slapping skin surrounding them.  
  
'You're so- _Vy prekrasny,'_ Victor moaned, Russian sounding so much better in his mouth when his voice was like that.

Yuuri keened as he heard it, forcing himself to open his eyes and watch. Commit the image to memory. Victor bucked his hips with another strong thrust, this time with even more power, like he was testing how hard Yuuri could take it.  
  
'Ah- again!' Yuuri cried as his whole body shook with the force, cock pulsing suddenly and Yuuri thought he might come, just from that alone. Victor's hips stuttered for a moment and Yuuri maoned, hands scrambling around him to find some purchase of Victor to hold onto. Trying to keep Victor's eye, Yuuri asked again; 'Do it like that again. Harder, _harder.'  
  
_ Victor gave him exactly what he had asked for. He almost had Yuuri pulled entirely onto his lap now, hips fucking with a brutal pace that felt like Yuuri was being split open in the most important way a person could be.

Victor now had both hands on Yuuri's hips and Yuuri wrapped his legs around Victor's waist, pulling him even closer. It was hard for Victor keep his pace with that, but the noise of approval he made with Yuuri wrapped around him was worth it.  
  
Looking at Victor- at his intensely blue eyes and iconic hair come so undone, lose such control with just Yuuri to blame for it lit a fire in Yuuri that burned him from the inside out.  
  
He leant up with one sharp movement, causing both of them to make a loud noise at the change in angle and Yuuri got a hand around Victor's nape, desperately needing to kiss him.

Their lips met in a mess of open lips and frantic tongue, Victor too focused on holding Yuuri steady as he fucked him to really reciprocate properly but Yuuri didn't care.  
  
It wasn't about the kiss- not really. It was about Yuuri taking something he knew he shouldn't.  
  
With one push forward, Victor fell forward ontop of Yuuri, pressing Yuuri down into the mattress. Yuuri tightened his legs around Victor's waist, bending his body so they came up higher, giving Victor more room to move freely.

Victor was grinding down now, cock brushing consistently and roughly against Yuuri's prostate to the point that Yuuri's eyes watered, stray tears leaking down into his hair.  
  
Between kisses, Yuuri tried to warn Victor as his felt himself spiral closer and closer to the edge. 'Victor- ah, god! I'm- I'm close!'  
  
'Good,' Victor purred, leaving wet, trailing kisses down Yuuri's throat as he continued to fuck him with a punishing force.

Yuuri whined as Victor sped up, hips snapping to meet Yuuri's and his cock dragging so thick inside of him. Like he was moving Yuuri's very skin with each thrust.

'I want you to come. Just like this. With nothing but my cock to satisfy you.'  
  
Yuuri whimpered at the words, heat flushing. Victor chuckled breathlessly before slamming into Yuuri with one, almost violent thrust. Yuuri cried out as he was pushed up the bed with the force.  
  
'Has anyone ever done that?' Victor asked and Yuuri didn't hear him at first, lost to the building presure low in his gut as Victor fucked into him, Yuuri's cock stuck between them in a sweaty grind against Victor's stomach. 'Has anyone ever had you like this? Made you cry out like this?'  
  
To make his point, Victor slammed forward against Yuuri's prostate again and Yuuri's vision sparked out as he closed his eyes, back arching and cock spurting with a force that it felt like Yuuri was emptying his very soul out between them. He scrawled his nails down Victor's back with such pressure that even trimmed, they were bound to leave marks.  
  
Yuuri didn't realise how loudly he had shouted out as he came until his voice cracked under the weight of Victor's name.  
  
Victor only managed a few more thrusts himself before he was groaning, too, teeth buried into Yuuri's shoulder. He came and it felt like warmth was blooming so deep in Yuuri that it was part of his bones.  
  
As Yuuri felt Victor come inside him, he moaned again, the pulsing feeling of Victor's cock emptying inside of him tremouring through his body. Yuuri felt like he had been claimed, mated almost. Like something dark and primal had happened, and now his body was screaming for Victor to shelter him.  
  
It was intense. Lust-drunk. Wonderful.  
  
_'Bezumno krasivaya,'_ Victor whispered to Yuuri's skin and Yuuri didn't know what that meant at all but it sounded like praise and that was enough to have him wiggling against the sheets, whining at the sensitivity he felt at having Victor still buried so deep inside him.  
  
Victor leaned up on his elbows, which shook slightly beneath his weight, but then he was kissing Yuuri with such deep, sweet intensity that Yuuri's heart stopped. Like it too was surprised. His hair tickled Yuuri's cheek and Yuuri could taste sweat on his top lip. But it was perfect.  
  
Victor pulled out of him slowly and Yuuri whimpered at the loss, body clenching around the empty space as Victor shifted off him. He kissed Yuuri's shoulder again before leaning over the mattress to the bedside drawer, pulling out a packet of wet-wipes.

Before Yuuri could do anything, Victor lay down next to him with a wipe in his hand and moved to clean Yuuri himself.  
  
'Y-you don't have to!' Yuuri stammered, but his voice was croaky, barely words. Victor ignored him, eyes focused on the task at hand as he carefully used the wipe to pull the condom off. Yuuri closed his eyes at the cold feeling, whining a little with sensitivity. Victor kissed his cheek.  
  
'Let me look after you, _miliy,'_ Victor said and Yuuri could feel himself blushing, which was _so stupid_ but he let Victor do as he wanted anyway.  
  
It was so personal, another infringement on their arrangement but Yuuri found himself not caring very quickly.

Yuuri wanted Victor to treat him well. Wanted to be treated like he were a lover, not a prostitute that Victor had hired. Victor made it so easy to forget it.  
  
Too easy.  
  
After Victor had looked after himself as well, Yuuri felt the anxiety begin to creep in around him. What had he done? He'd given too much of himself away. He brought Victor back to his _apartment_.

Yuuri was insane, he had to be.

A cold nausea swelled in his stomach and Yuuri sat up in the bed, looking around the mess of the bed they'd made. They hadn't even pulled the covers off, elegant blue comforter of the bed kicked near off the end of it.  
  
Yuuri ran two hands through his hair, pushing it back of his face and tried to even out his breathing. It was their last time together anyway. None of this meant anything. Not to Victor.

After the free-skate tomorrow, Victor would get on his plane back to Russia and that would be that. Yuuri would never see him again. Never touch him, or kiss him, or hear the way he'd whisper those Russian words in his ear.  
  
And Victor would forget Yuuri. Just like he had the first time.  
  
'Eros?'  
  
Yuuri jumped when Victor touched him, just a gentle hand to Yuuri's shoulder. Victor was frowning a little, fingers rubbing comforting circles on Yuuri's skin. Yuuri wanted to lean into the touch, wanted to give himself over but something was holding him back. He'd given so much of himself away already. And Victor calling him Eros was just a reminder.

That Victor didn't know him. Could never know him.  
  
'I...' Yuuri was whispering, though he wasn't sure why. He was about to say he should go, that Victor must have to get up early in the morning. That he had a nice time. Thank you. I'll miss you.  
  
'Come to bed,' Victor said and though his tone was teasing, his mouth trembled just a bit and the silly hope that burned deep in Yuuri like a candle at a shrine got brighter. Like maybe Victor was thinking all the same things.  
  
With that thought, Yuuri's nervousness and panic melted away. He let himself be folded into the bed, let Victor wrap his long arms around him.  
  
_Just one more,_ Yuuri thought as he breathed in the scent of Victor's skin. Sweat and stale cologne. _One more rule._

 

* * *

 

Victor opened his eyes slowly, taking a moment to adjust to the brightness of the room. He must've forgotton to close the curtains the night before. Sighing, Victor rolled over in the sheets and met the warm body of someone else. Victor was suddenly wide awake, sitting up on the bed to stare down at the sleeping form of Eros.

Eros. In Victor's hotel bed. Asleep. _Naked_ and asleep. 

This was... _amazing._

Victor grinned to himself, a hand coming up to hold his own chest. Palm up, against the quick beat of his heart that was thundering now with excitement. Eros was beautiful, of course.

Lying on his stomach, face buried in the pillow and bare shoulders exposed from where the sheets had rolled down. His hair had come away completely, a mess of black with some gel still clumped in places across the pillow. Victor wanted to run his fingers through every strand, maybe even brush it out for Eros.

Last night had been one of the most intense nights of Victor's life. It blew their first night together out of the water. Eros had been different; there had been a nervous energy crackling between them all evening, but not even Victor could've foreeen how it would expel itself.

Just remembering the way Eros had looked, sweat-sheen and muscles taut. Victor bit his lip, morning arousal growing just from the memory.

Victor had never made anyone come hands free before. Never knew it was really possible, to be honest as it had never happened to him. But the way Eros had come apart so spectacularly.

It felt like more than just some bedroom achievement, (though Victor would lying if he said he might never use it as bragging rights).

No. What he and Eros had shared last night was more than just sex. It had felt like a reckoning. Awakening something deep in Victor he thought himself incapable of.

  
Very carefully, Victor slid back down into the bed, moving up closer and trying not to wake Eros, terrified that if he did, Eros would get up completely and leave. Victor really didn't want him to leave- not yet, maybe not ever.

That was bad, wasn't it?  
  
Eros' body was warm and sleep-soft, legs bent and arms curled into his chest. He slept like he wished he was smaller, the complete opposite to Victor who liked to spread out.

Victor felt a need burst in him, the need to hold Eros close and protect him. He knew Eros was a grown man, a prostitute at that and likely didn't need protecting- but the urge was still there.

Victor slid up behind Eros, wrapping an arm carefully around Eros' waist, delighting in the satisfied noise the man made when Victor held on a little tighter, pulling Eros back against his own chest. Hips to hips, with Victor's fastly growing cock between them.  
  
With a small grunt, Eros moved and for one, dreadful moment, Victor thought he was getting up. But instead, Eros turned in Victor's arms with a small shuffle, eyes closed and lips pouted.

Eros bent himself down and burrowed in underneath Victor's chin, hair tickling and hands folded between their chests. His own cock was only half-hard, mostly soft still- but the feel of it against him, the pressure and warmth...

Victor felt something swell inside him, threatening to erupt out as Eros made himself comfortable again. Heart stuttering, an engine firing with nowhere to go. With shaky hands, Victor brought his arms around Eros, holding him flush.  
  
Scratch _amazing_. This was better than that.  
  
Victor had never had someone stay through until morning like this. Of course, people had and Victor had thought it pleasant enough at the time. But this was different to then. Eros was different to those people.

They'd slept in late, going by the sun that filtered in through the chiffon veil of the window and Victor wished they still had hours to go.

He wanted to see everything. Wanted to pull the sheets down and see if Eros' skin was red from where they had bunched against him. Wanted to know if Eros yawned silently or did he groan, like Victor did? Did he close his eyes when he brushed his teeth?  
  
Victor wanted to see everything.  
  
Already knowing their morning was going to be too short, Victor closed his eyes in frustration as his phone started to go off with his eleven AM alarm. He groaned with disappointment into Eros' hair as Eros made his own whine of dissatisfaction.

At hearing it, Victor's frown melted away, letting something far more fragile out as he reluctantly let Eros go to turn the alarm off quickly. Once he had resumed his position, Victor kissed the top of Eros' head. Perhaps a little harder than necessary.  
  
Just to be sure.  
  
' _Dorogoi,_ we need to get up,' Victor said softly into Eros' hair, breathing in the smell of skin, sex and stale gel. The best smell in the world.  
  
' _Muh,'_ Eros groaned, burying his face further into Victor's neck. His breath was hot against the skin there and Victor tried in vain to stop his dick from twitching with it. He swallowed thickly as Eros nuzzled his nose against Victor's adam's apple. Then; ' _Shush.'_  
  
Victor smiled, chest tight. 'I'm sorry?'  
  
' _Shhhhush,'_ was all Victor got from beneath him. The next words were muffled, but undeniably grumpy. 'I'm sleeping. Don't be selfish.'  
  
Victor snorted before he could stop himself, triggering a small fit of giggles that he honestly did try to stifle by pressing his lips against Eros' scalp. That was- unexpected. But brilliant.

Shoulders trembling, Victor held on, laughing almost silently as Eros suddenly twisted in his grip, apparently just registering what he had said. He sat up quickly and his brown eyes wide.  
  
Before Victor could say anything though, Eros' face scrunched up, nose wrinkled and eyes tightly closed. He brought a hand up to one, rubbing the corner and tugging the eyelid.

'Ow,' he said, voice rounded and accent a little thick. Victor felt his stomach twist with the sound of it. The rubbing got harder, skin dragging. ' _Kuso-.'_  
  
With that, Eros grumpily scrambled half-way down the bed, gathering the bunched up comforter from the end of the mattress where it had been shoved hap-hazardly the night before.

He got out of the bed, wrapping the comforter around him like a robe. He looked adorable and sexy, and Victor was sitting up half-chasing him already.  
  
'Something wrong?'  
  
'Contacts,' Eros muttered sourly like that answered anything. Victor watched from the bed as Eros shuffled around it towards the bathroom.  
  
When Eros was gone, Victor sat back against the headboard, half under the sheets still.  
  
Running a hand through his hair, Victor grinned madly to himself, even chuckling a little. He remembered from their texts yesterday where Eros had said he was not a morning person. But experiencing it? In person?

It was funny. It was cute. It was probably something Victor should consider crossing the line of _professional boundaries_ , but right now Victor couldn't bring himself to care. In for a penny and all that...  
  
With a small huff, Eros came back out into the main room. He was still wrapped in the comforter and he looked so small, hair sticking up in spiky tufts and eyes squinting. Victor tilted his head, confused.  
  
'Everything good, _miliy?'_ he asked as Eros rubbed at his eyes again.  
  
'I didn't bring my glasses,' Eros grumbled, meeting Victor's gaze with narrowed eyes. But Victor's brain caught, stuck on the image of Eros in glasses. So _that's_ what he meant by contacts. Did Eros need glasses this entire time?  
  
Victor tried to imagine what Eros' deep brown eyes would like behind the frames of some sleek, modern frames. He liked the image very, _very_ much.  
  
'How badly do you need them?' Victor continued, shifting slightly across the bed towards Eros who shambled his way closer as well. Eros' cheeks flushed, just a little. Victor loved it when that happened.  
  
'Quite badly,' Eros said softly, watching as Victor paused in his shuffling across the mattress, suddenly hesitant.  
  
Victor was pretty sure sex was out of the question. After all, he'd only paid Eros for four hours. And that had been... well, a while ago. Those four hours were certainly up.

Victor wasn't sure how much more he could push, how much more time he could steal. Didn't know what else Eros would let him have.

He wanted to tug at the edges of the quilted, blue comforter. Wanted to take Eros' hand and pull him back to bed. Victor wanted to keep going like there didn't need to be a transaction first.

  
Victor finally had Eros where he wanted him. But he had no idea how to keep him there.  
  
(Well, he had one. But he wasn't overly fond of it).  
  
Eros shifted from one foot to the other, looking away and licking his lips nervously. When he met Victor's eye again, he was blushing and Victor wanted to kiss him very, very badly.  
  
'Victor-'  
  
'Yes?' Victor said immediately, pushing hair behind his ear and biting his lip as Eros watched the movement with his narrowed eyes.  
  
Just what, Victor would never know, as at that moment, the hotel room door _beeped_ as someone let themselves in.  
  
Victor just barely got the covers over himself as Eros jumped on the spot, tugging the comforter even tighter around himself as the large, imposing figure of Yakov Feltsman walked in, fedora and hideous blue scarf to boot like the goddamn inquisition.  
  
'Vitya, the women's free-skate had a cock-up, because of course it did, so now everyone's running half an hour behind, so we should get-' Yakov was already talking as he walked in, eyes fixed on the phone in his hand.

He turned on the spot, leaning a hip against the desk as Eros watched him with wild eyes and Victor wondered if there was any way Yakov might just not notice and leave...  
  
Yakov looked up from his phone, face freezing mid-rant about the poor women's free skate. His eyes slowly moved under his thick eyebrows from Eros, who squeaked under the scruntiny and then finally made their way to Victor.

Victor smiled, opening his mouth to explain when-  
  
_'Victor!'_  
  
Victor sighed, excuse dying on his lips. He folded his legs up under the blanket, crossing his arms over them and resting his chin there as he watched the colour fill Yakov's face. Victor could practically see the steam pouring from his ears.

Victor wondered what would come first; outrage at Victor fooling around before the free-skate, or mortification of catching Victor in the act with someone. (Again).  
  
'What do you think you're doing screwing around before the free-skate?!' Yakov bellowed, the whole room practically shaking with the velocity of the English Yakov threw at him.

Victor rolled his eyes. That figured. Yakov pointed a finger at Eros, who made another meek noise at it, tucking his chin in and underneath the edges of the comforter.

'Who is that? Why is he here?'  
  
'Well,' Victor said smoothly, turning a palm gracefully in flourish vaguely in Eros' direction. 'When a man meets someone he _really_ likes, he might invite that someone back to his room and-'  
  
_'Dostatochno!'_ Yakov snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath, releasing it with something akin to a growl.

Victor looked away to watch Eros, heart bending in sympathy as Eros' ears went red from where they were peeking above the comforter.

'You better not have done any damage, Vitya.'  
  
Victor blinked at that, confused at first before understanding dawned. He smiled again, grinned practically. Yakov fumed as he did.  
  
'I assure you, I'm in perfect condition. My friend here was most considerate.'  
  
Eros made something that almost sounded like a squawk from beneath his quilted shield. Yakov also made a noise of protest, waving hands manically.  
  
'I don't want to know. Just be in the lobby in ten minutes,' Yakov said quickly, English so fast and stuttering that even Victor noticed the accent. He wondered randomly if that was how he sounded to Eros.  
  
He hoped not.  
  
Yakov gave Eros another once over, lips pursed as he made it all the way to Eros' bare feet.  
  
'Twenty. Twenty minutes,' he said angrily before he turned and left, slamming the door behind him with much more force than was required in Victor's opinion.  
  
For a long while, neither of them said anything. But then Victor started laughing, holding his face in his hands as the ridiculousness of what just happened sank in. God, if only Yakov _knew_. He'd probably have killed Victor right then and there, GPF and Yuri be damned.

Victor kept sniggering to himself as Eros moved in the corner of his eye and when Victor finally looked over to him, he had a very disapproving look on his gorgeous, round face.  
  
'That was not very funny,' Eros said sombrely, moving towards the end of the bed where his clothes lay discarded.  
  
'It was a little funny,' Victor teased, meaning quite the opposite in that it was hilarious.

But Eros just threw a deathly stare, one that was certainly less menancing now that Victor knew that Eros could only _just_ see him clearly.

Eros started grabbing at his clothes with one hand, the other still holding the comforter tight around him. Victor watched, curious; 'Have you never been caught before?'  
  
'No,' Eros replied quickly, holding his clothes close so he wouldn't drop them. 'That was actually the first time.'  
  
'I'm flattered to be your first,' Victor said, joking but judging by the way Eros' shoulders tensed beneath his comforter, he didn't find it very amusing. Victor tried to ignore the inkling of nerves the obvious upset Eros was feeling gave him. It really wasn't that serious a deal.  
  
Victor threw off the blanket, stretching with a loud sigh before standing up and heading towards the wardrobe. He pulled out his kit from the gear-bag he'd thrown there, very conscious of how Eros was watching him. Like Victor could feel the way those eyes moved over his back, like a touch.

Pulling on his sweats, Victor wondered if there was any way he could steal more time. He'd shower at the rink- Yakov would be impatient. He hoped he had a spare toothbrush in his bag.

Zipping up his _Russia_ jersey, Victor turned and moved to Eros, stopping in front of him and looking down at small Japanese. Up close, Eros seemed to be focusing a little better. Near-sighted, then. Maybe. How could Victor know for certain?

Victor hovered, unsure what to do. Eros was watching him right back, bottom lip curved in underneath his teeth.  
  
This was their last moment together. Victor didn't want Eros to be upset, didn't want their evening and morning to have been spoiled because of Yakov Feltsman of all people. Victor had wanted it to be special, to be memorable in a way that Eros would look back and smile. Maybe even consider seeing Victor again.

Now he was probably just remembering all the reasons he shouldn't have indulged Victor as much as he did. Shouldn't have taken the chance. The thought was oddly hurtful, but Victor tried to remind himself that he was a client first and he should respect Eros' boundaries, if it was needed.  
  
He was the _client_ and Eros was the _escort._  
  
'Thank you,' Victor said gently, choosing courage and bringing a hand up to take Eros' chin. He held Eros steady, unable to look anywhere but at Eros' face. Counted the spirals of brown in his eyes, traced the crease between his brows. 'For everything.'  
  
'It was my pleasure,' Eros replied and though it was most certainly a line, Victor could hear the edge in Eros' voice. Not quite uneven, but not confident either. Victor took a chance.  
  
'My flight isn't until the morning,' Victor said, pulling Eros closer to him, feeling the bunched clothes and fabric between them. Watched as Eros' eyes fluttered shut. Victor couldn't ask... He couldn't. Eros was hardly going to give it away. But if Victor could just get one more evening, one more hour even.  
  
'Oh,' Eros breathed, eyes dropping to Victor's lips. Victor leaned forward, closer and closer until their foreheads were almost touching.

His thumb slid up along Eros' chin, pad of it pressing down onto Eros' bottom lip. Tugging it down, just a little. Victor didn't realise he was breathing so shakily.  
  
'I'd like to see you again, if you're available,' Victor whispered, closing his eyes and breathing in the smell of Eros' skin. Eros nodded, Victor's hand following the movement.  
  
'My details are the same,' Eros said, words skimming over Victor's thumb like skipping stones on water. Creating ripples, right across Victor's surface.  
  
Of course. Because like Victor knew already- _he was the client._ Eros was...  
  
'I have to go.'  
  
'I know.'  
  
'May I text you later?' Victor asked, wanting so desperately to close the distance. To kiss Eros deeply, sweetly maybe. To taste the noise Eros made when he was surprised.

Eros nodded again, silently. Victor did move, but only to bring their heads together. He nuzzled against him slightly , indulging perhaps but not able to stop himself.  
  
With a very heavy heart, Victor pulled away. He kissed Eros on the forehead, lingering just the smallest bit too long before stepping away entirely. Eros looked so small, wrapped in the stupid comforter with his clothes all bundled up in a heap in one arm.

Victor wanted to help him shower, wash his hair for him. Victor wanted a lot of things.  
  
_I still have time_ , he thought desperately as he tried to smile before picking up his gear bag. Going around Eros for a moment to get his phone from the bedside table, Victor spotted the crumpled mess of his jumper on the ground. He bent down and picked it up, turning to meet Eros again.  
  
'Here,' he said, lying the jumper out on the bed with purpose. Eros watched him do so, mouth pinched in confusion. Victor really wanted to kiss him. 'You should wear that. Your shirt is not very appropiate for a Sunday morning.'  
  
Eros flushed and Victor smiled when he saw it.  
  
'I- um, I really shouldn't,' Eros mumbled, not meeting Victor's eye. Victor felt something flutter inside him, something frantic. He wanted Eros to take the jumper. Maybe even needed him to. Why, Victor couldn't say. Couldn't admit, maybe.  
  
'I'll get it back from you later,' Victor said, hoping to convince Eros. Victor shifted the gear-bag on his shoulder. 'Consider it a retainer.'  
  
At that, Eros did meet his eye and Victor wasn't sure if he had done right, or wrong, or something else entirely as Eros' look was something Victor had never seen on another person before. Like all the lights had gone out.

For a moment, it looked like Eros was about to say something, but instead he swallowed whatever words he'd had. He watched Victor with his big, brown eyes and bitten lips, chin ducking down in a very shy nod.  
  
Victor took one more freebie. Just one. He kissed Eros on the cheek, tried not to linger this time.  
  
'You'll watch me in the free-skate, _da?'_ It was supposed to sound flirtatious, almost like a command or something Eros should consider as part of their arrangement. But it didn't sound that way. It sounded a little desperate, even to Victor's ear. A little too much like what Victor really wanted to say.  
  
'Of-of course,' Eros stammered in reply, brown eyes alight with something.   
  
'I'll see you later, _miliy._  Stay in the room as long as you like.' _  
_

With that, Victor left miserably. Yakov had no idea what he'd just cost him.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri took a cautious sip of his coffee, pleased when it wasn't too hot. He tried to focus on directly what was in front of him, pushing thoughts of Victor and the night before far from his mind. Across from him, Sophia popped the lid off her own Starbucks, reaching over for the sugar. Yuuri watched as she opened two packs, fidgeting with the faded edges of his Filofax that sat on the table between them as she poured them in.  
  
'So, how've you been getting on?' Sophia asked, brilliant red lipstick bright against her dark, brown skin. 'I noticed the new number. Should I be worried?'

'No,' Yuuri said, taking his glasses off briefly to give them a quick wipe. How they got so dirty all the time he never knew. 'Just had an issue with the phone.'

Sophia nodded at him before she smiled suggestively. 'Work going okay?'  
  
'Like you wouldn't know. I pay you enough,' Yuuri replied quietly, throwing his eyes around the loud cafe, just in case. Sophia rolled her eyes, black curls bouncing around her sharp cheekbones as she tilted her head in flourish.  
  
'Alright, no need to be a dick about it.'  
  
'I'm not-!' Yuuri squeaked, shocked at Sophia's language. Sophia laughed at him before taking a sip of her own coffee. Yuuri blushed, tucking his chin down into his scarf. 'Never mind. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude.'  
  
'I'm only messing with you, guy,' Sophia replied, eyes warm and still smiling. 'So, I looked up your Fred Bolton. He checks out okay. Wife, kids- corporate guy. The whole shebang. No dark secrets, none that I could find anyway. Well, aside from you. You're only his second hire. Should be pretty standard I'd say.'  
  
Yuuri nodded as she spoke, opening the Filofax and abandoning his coffee to make notes. Yuuri had been introduced to Sophia three years ago, in passing mostly from his old madam. When Yuuri had made the decision to go on his own, he knew he'd need a private investigator he could trust. And afford. Luckily for him, Sophia met both those margains. She was a fair bit older than Yuuri, pushing thirty-five if he had to guess though she'd never said.  
  
Sophia wasn't her real name. But she didn't know Yuuri's either.  
  
It was Sophia who had helped Yuuri set up his anonymous corporation. He was greatly indebted to her. He almost considered her a friend.  
  
Well, as much of a friend as someone in his business could consider her.  
  
'Your appointment with him is next week?' Sophia asked after giving Yuuri the quick breakdown. Yuuri underlined _father was a preacher_ in his Filofax, humming in response.  
  
His Filofax was Yuuri's greatest asset. Every client, every time, ever since he'd started. This was his third one, the previous two in a safety deposit box in the Commerce Bank. It was where he kept his information for all his clients and appointments. Rates, time spent with each person. Likes, dislikes. Warning signs. Their phone numbers, on occassion their email. When he'd gotten the new phone, it was his Filofax where he'd kept the information he needed to set it up. Fred Bolton was being pencilled in now, on the page opposite one which still sat blank.  
  
Yuuri had only written a time and place on that page. _Westin, 7pm._ His first appointment with Victor. Yuuri would normally have had Sophia check his client out first, but he'd trusted Chris and trusted he'd be able to make his own notes. But now, days later, Yuuri still hadn't filled in Victor's sheet aside from his phone number.  
  
Yuuri knew enough about Victor from being his fan to not need it.  
  
Yuuri stopped himself there. He couldn't think about Victor. He still hadn't received any transactions, or messages, from Victor to confirm their appointment that evening. He'd deliberately left it open, just in case. But the sick, pooling feeling of disappointment ate at him. The night before had been so good. Amazing, beyond anything Yuuri had ever experienced. He wasn't sure he was ready to let Victor go.  
  
'Just a standard two-hour booking,' Yuuri replied eventually, continuing the conversation now his notes had been made, scratching his pen a little hard as he tried to put Victor from his mind. 'Probably dinner and then the hotel. Now I know he's not a murderer, I can get back to him properly.'  
  
'What a hard life you live, men waiting so patiently to hear from you,' Sophia lamented over her coffee, tugging on her long gold necklace. 'I can't even get the man I married to read my texts, never mind reply.'  
  
'You divorced him.'  
  
'My point still stands. I just wish I had a bit more luck with men.'  
  
'You hate men,' Yuuri replied, automatically taking his coffee and drinking it as Sophia giggled at him.  
  
'I hate liars. Just so happens most are men,' she teased, nodding sagely. Yuuri frowned at her.  
  
'That's not true,' he said, closing his Filofax and buttoning it. Sophia gave him a very pointed look.  
  
'Honey, just look at you. You're a professional liar,' she said, putting her coffee down and folding her hands on the table. Yuuri flushed, shame and guilt suddenly very heavy inside of him as Phichit's face flashed before his mind's eye. They still had so much to talk about, Yuuri not even seeing him yet since the night before. He'd already left for the rink by the time Yuuri made it home that morning.  
  
'I guess,' he responded meekly. They sat in silence for a moment while Yuuri bustled to get the envelope out of his jacket pocket. He handed it over the table towards Sophia, who took it with her perfectly manicured hands, slipping it into her handbag that was looped around the back of the chair.  
  
'So, tell me. What's new with you? Haven't heard from you in days,' Sophia said slowly, brown eyes watching Yuuri closely. Yuuri squirmed in his seat, ass twinging with leftover pain. Even if it was good pain, it still made sitting awkward. Sophia's eyes flicked down as he did so and Yuuri blushed even more so. 'Not like you to be so quiet.'  
  
'I haven't been accepting any new bookings since Thursday,' Yuuri answered, carefully avoiding Sophia's gaze to watch the long line of students at the till. Listened to the whirring noise of the baristas and idle chatter around them.  
  
'Taking a break were we?'  
  
'No, I've... I was booked, actually,' Yuuri said, biting his lip and running a hand nervously through his hair. It was still quite damp from his shower in Victor's hotel room. Sophia's eyes widened.  
  
'Since Thursday?' she asked, not bothering to hide the increduality in her voice. Yuuri swallowed nervously, thinking of Victor's hands and his thin nose. Of his teeth on his shoulder.  
  
'Um, yeah,' Yuuri said, picking up his coffee but suddenly not feeling very up to it. Sophia narrowed her eyes, unfolding her fingers to drum her perfect nails on the tabletop.  
  
'You don't like weekend jobs,' she said. Yuuri shrugged, deeply uncomfortable.  
  
'It wasn't the weekend. Exactly,' Yuuri said though he knew it was a lie. Trading a Sunday for Thursday didn't undo the Friday and Saturday.  
  
'Who was he? He must've been absolutely loaded to afford you for three days. Loaded and stupid about what to do with it,' Sophia said, joking tone coming back into her voice. Yuuri spun his cup of coffee between his hands. 'Who checked him out? It wasn't me. You didn't cheat on me with another investigator, did you?'  
  
Yuuri shook his head, sipping his coffee to delay the inevitable.  
  
'No. I actually didn't research him at all.'  
  
Sophia's mouth opened in shock. She shook her head a little, frown forming. 'You did what? You should know better than that!'  
  
'He wasn't some stranger!' Yuuri said hastily, feeling the bizarre need to defend Victor. 'Not- not exactly anyway. I knew him, of sorts.'  
  
'Of sorts?' Sophia scoffed and Yuuri groaned, rubbing at his eyes beneath his glasses. They still weren't right after he'd slept in his contacts. He'd need to clean them properly when he got home. He also really couldn't stay out much longer if he wanted to get changed and back to the rink before the free-skate at two. He'd only made the quick pitstop home to pick up his glasses and the Filofax before meeting Sophia.  
  
'Look, never mind. It's over now. He leaves the US tomorrow morning.'  
  
Sophia watched him from across the table very carefully. Yuuri could feel her eyes on him, though he couldn't quite focus on them. He really needed a proper shower as well. He finished his coffee, stomach churning uncomfortably.  
  
'Right. Whatever you say. Just, I like you, kid. I don't want you to get hurt.'  
  
Yuuri shrank backwards into his chair, gathering his Filofax up from the table as he got ready to leave.  
  
'Thanks, Sophia. But I'm okay. I know what I'm doing.'

 

* * *

  
_'The score for Victor Nikiforov's free-skate Stay Close to Me is 199.87! That puts him top of the podium with gold at this year's Skate America- finalising his presence at the Grand Prix this year already! His intial ranking will depend on the results of the Rostelecom Cup next month. That concludes Skate America, 2016!  
  
Jean-Jaques Leroy comes in second place after an impressive free-skate, Christophe Giacometti coming in third! Thailand's Phichit Chulanont has come fourth, qualifying him for this year's Grand Prix Final. However, Chulanont's advancement to the final won't be confirmed until the results of the Rostelecom Cup next month!'  
  
_

* * *

 

Victor took the gold medal off his neck, turning it over in his hands.  
  
The numbness he had hoped to have eradicated over the last few days was still there. It sat beneath his skin, deep in his bones like it was part of the marrow. Part of what made Victor up. Sighing, Victor zipped open his gear bag, dropping the medal haphazardly into it. Then he started to undo the buttons of his costume- pink chiffon jacket over a lyca shirt. Shimmering, beautiful. Like everything Victor did.

Transperant, he thought miserably.  
  
He wasn't alone in the changing room for long, Chris sauntering in with his guarded skates and a big, bloomed rose behind one of his ears. Victor looked up from where he was sitting on the bench, smiling in welcome.  
  
'Congratulations, Chris!' he said, leaning back against the lockers as Chris walked over to him, taking the seat next to him.   
  
'Even more so for you, _cheri_ ,' Chris said, winking and taking the flower from his hair. 'Not like you to leave the kiss-and-cry so quickly though. The media will miss you if you keep hiding away like this.'  
  
'Hmm,' Victor hummed, disinterested in anything and everything reporters could want from him. Victor left his jacket hanging open, placing his hands on either side of him on the bench, losing himself to thought.  
  
To be honest, Victor had just felt like he couldn't bring himself to face the press. He didn't have the energy to sit there and lie about his non-existent excitement for the upcoming season. Even now, just after winning another gold, Victor could think about nothing but getting away from the rink as soon as possible.  
  
Preferably back to his hotel room. Even more preferably, with a very particular someone with him.  
  
Chasing Eros was unlike anything Victor had ever done before. The three nights they'd spent together had inspired him more than the last nine months of skating. Last night, Victor was sure he'd broken through some great wall Eros had built, because the man who lay beneath him, whimpering with need and eyes so open with emotion- that had been a very different person to the cocksure flirt he'd met on Thursday. Victor wanted to make love to that man again, wanted to let that man show him love right back.  
  
'Victor?'  
  
Victor started, shaken out of his thoughts by Chris' warm hand on his shoulder. Chris looked a bit concerned, hazel eyes frowning so the green in them flared. Victor tried to smile, feigning blasé as he shrugged.  
  
'Sorry, what were you saying?' he said, taking in Chris' stern mouth.  
  
'You look a bit red. Is everything alright?' Chris said gently, accent thick on the _t'_ s like always. Victor nodded, moving to strip his jacket off.  
  
'Of course! I'm just thinking about what to do to celebrate,' he replied with easy grace, carefully folding the jacket and putting in his gear-bag, pulling his kit out as he did. Chris didn't seem all that convinced, but he took the bait anyway.  
  
'Well, I hear that the other skaters are going to someone's dorm. But I think we're both a little mature for that,' Chris said, bumping Victor's shoulder and Victor tried not to blush as he thought of his own evening the night before; sitting on some guy's couch with a bunch of teenagers.  
  
Thinking about the evening before had Victor abstractly search his bag for his wallet. Eros had said he'd be available, but in all the confusion about the delayed free-skate and Yakov's temper tantrum, Victor had forgotten to get back to him. He may as well do so now and make a payment as well, just to show Eros how serious he was about seeing him.  
  
Unfortunately, Victor's wallet did not seem to be where he left it.  
  
Victor was not panicking. He was Victor Nikiforov, he didn't panic. But he certainly wasn't happy that his wallet appeared to be missing, Chris inquiring worriedly as Victor stood up in his skates so to see into the gear-bag properly. But his wallet definitely wasn't there.  
  
'Vitya! The media from Moscow are hoping for a photo of you and-'  
  
_'Ne seychas!'_ Victor snapped in Russian, not bothering to turn and face Yakov who had walked in behind him. He was still angry about the morning, not that he was going to admit to it. And he had a more pressing issue at the moment anyway than whatever Yakov was complaining about this time.  
  
'Victor!' Yakov scolded, dimuinitive dropping with irritation and Victor paused in his searching, taking a very deep breath before turning to face Yakov. Yakov looked exactly as he had that morning- frowning deeply and arms crossed. Victor didn't bother faking a smile this time.  
  
'Forgive me, Yakov. I've just noticed my wallet is missing,' Victor said, closing his eyes and pushing the hair out of his face. Yakov made a small _tsking_ noise, causing Victor to look back at him.  
  
'You,' Yakov said, pointing a finger at Chris. 'Get out.'  
  
'This is the skaters' changing room,' Chris shot back with a cheeky smile. Yakov breathed fire.  
  
'Out!' he snapped and this time Chris just stood up, giving Victor a forlorn look as he left the changing room. Victor watched him go, confused by Yakov's sudden outburst.  
  
'What is it?' he asked, switching back to English in the hopes Yakov would be calmer. His arms dropped at his sides as Yakov reached to pull something out of the pocket of his old-fasioned black coat.  
  
In his hand, Yakov held up Victor's wallet. Victor physically felt the anxiety drain from him. God, that was such a relief. If anyone gotten their hands on the platinum credit card, he'd have had quite the hard time at the bank. Victor took a few steps forward, hand outstretched. He was sure he'd left the wallet in his gear-bag, but he was too grateful to Yakov to worry about it now.  
  
'Thank goodness!' Victor said, finally smiling as he went to take the wallet. But then Yakov pulled the wallet back, out of Victor's reach. Victor paused. 'What?'  
  
'It wasn't lost,' Yakov said, English thick with accent and really, how had Victor never noticed before? Victor was sure his English was much better. 'I've confiscated it.'  
  
It took a long while for those words to sink in. Victor wasn't sure what to make of them at first, initial laugh of surprise catching when he realised that Yakov was most certainly not giving his wallet back to him. All of Victor's details and sparse cash were in that thing- Victor wouldn't even be able to afford a bottle water without it. The thought of all the things Victor had intended to do with that wallet flashed before him and Victor tried to stay calm.  
  
'Yakov,' he said sweetly, raising his hands up in a placating gesture. 'I don't know what this is all about. But there's really no need for such dramatics.'  
  
'Dramatics?!' Yakov spluttered, waving the wallet in front of Victor like it was some kind of incriminating evidence. 'Do you even know how many ruples you spent in the last few days? Did you pay any attention to anything you were buying?'  
  
Victor wanted to snap back that _yes,_ he did pay very, very close attention to the thing he'd been paying for for the last few days. But instead Victor was just so affronted that Yakov would confront him so openly, frustrated to no end that the bank had let Yakov know of the erratic spending as Victor's co-sign on the allowance account when Victor had ignored their calls. Victor crossed his arms, stubborn.  
  
'Of course I did!' Victor replied, very conscious of how much taller he was than Yakov in his skates. He took advantage, trying to stare Yakov down. Victor really should've known that Yakov wouldn't scare as easily as Leroy did. 'Besides, it's my money! I can spend it how I like.'  
  
'The only thing you ever bought asides from the apartment you live in is that damned poodle,' Yakov said through gritted teeth. 'Even for you, Vitya, this spending was too much.'  
  
'I believe I said it was my money. Did you miss that part? Was my English too difficult?' Victor replied bitterly, knowing he was being mean but unable to stop himself. Yakov took a very deep breath. Victor could practically see the vein throbbing on his forehead underneath his ugly fedora.  
  
'I don't care what you did with it, Vitya,' Yakov said slowly, like Victor was a child. Like he was _Yuri_ or something. Victor stiffened with offence at the thought. 'But it was too much, too fast. Don't think I haven't noticed how you've lost interest this season. You're lashing out.'  
  
Victor said nothing, not giving Yakov the satisfaction of proving himself right. Instead, he just glared ferociously. If Yakov was going to treat him like Yuri, then Victor would do his damnest to channel the fifteen year-old.  
  
'I'm worried about you.'  
  
'I don't need you to worry for me,' Victor retorted, meaning it quite sincerely though it sounded petulant. (Maybe he was embracing too much of his inner-Yuri). Victor was twenty-seven. He didn't need a babysitter. Between this and Chris' simpering, Victor was really getting sick of people not trusting himself to make his own decisions. 'You're not my father.'

Something crossed Yakov's face, old wrinkles twitching with emotion. Victor elected to ignore it, refusing to feel bad.  
  
Yakov sighed, suddenly looking every year of his age. Something twinged inside of Victor at the sight. He refused to call it guilt.  
  
'Here,' Yakov said, putting the wallet back in his pocket and withdrawing his hand with two fifty-dollar notes. He offered them out to Victor, who looked at them blankly. 'This is your allowance for the night.'  
  
_Allowance?  
  
_ Victor bristled immediately, baring teeth.  
  
'I'm not a child.'  
  
'Bah, of course you are,' Yakov replied instantly with gruff, shoving the notes forward into Victor's chest so he had no choice but to take them. Yakov was so forceful at times. Both in coaching and out. Never giving Victor a choice.  
  
And he wondered why Victor never listened to him?  
Victor took the money and turned on the heel of his skate, spitting _starik_ behind his shoulder as he did so. Yakov said nothing, but Victor heard him leaving the changing room, leather shoes squeaking on the damp floor.  
  
When he was alone, Victor stared at the two notes in his hands.  
  
It wasn't enough. Nowhere near enough to see Eros again. Victor tried to stop the thick feeling growing his throat, but it happened anyway. He felt oddly choked. Disappointment was not something Victor was familiar with.  
  
Sighing miserably, Victor started untying his skates. He wondered if Eros would be as disappointed as he was. Victor selfishly hoped he would be.

 

* * *

 

JJ turned in front of the mirror, staring at the tattoo on his lower back. He was wearing low-rider boxers, but they weren't quite right. They still came up a little high. He'd have to go shopping again. Sighing with frustration, JJ accepted defeat and moved on to picking an outfit for the celebrations. He was going for drinks with his father and the other coaches. He knew the younger skaters had organised something as well, but JJ wasn't feeling entirely into it.  
  
He knew he hadn't peaked. Not by a long shot. But Victor Nikiforov did something to JJ, to his confidence. Nikiforov made JJ feel like he'd just stumbled out of the Junior Division.

Hanging out with a bunch of kids wouldn't help that feeling.  
  
JJ looked between the two shirts hanging in the wardrobe. The red was really more his style, but the blue would bring out his eyes. And what if he happened to stumble on some reporters? Or better yet, some JJ-Girls? He couldn't let his fans down like that.  
  
As he was reaching for the shirt, JJ was interrupted by a knock on the door.  
  
'Huh,' he said to himself, taking the bathrobe up from the bed and putting it on as he approached the door. He had a suspicion over who it might be. Opening the door, JJ had his father's name perched on his lips- but it wasn't his father at the door.  
  
A woman stood on the other side. She was pale-skinned, with mousy brown hair though it had obviously been styled. JJ knew a blow-dry when he saw one. In a smart suit-skirt ensemble and gripping a small briefcase, the woman looked the picture of professionalism. JJ grinned, seeing through her straight away.  
  
'The press isn't allowed on this floor,' he said, teasing the reporter. The woman smiled back at him, suddenly oozing confidence.  
  
'Good thing I'm not the press then,' she replied and JJ lost his footing. Then who was she? She wasn't staff. No name-badge. They were required to wear one. JJ gave her another once-over, like he might be able to deduce more about her Sherlockian-style. But she gave away nothing, thin lips still smiling.  
  
'Sorry. My mistake then,' JJ said, moving to close the door, but the woman stopped him, hand coming up to hold the door still. JJ froze, unsure what to do. Was she a fan? JJ knew he'd done pretty good out on the ice today, but inspiring someone to actually stalk up to his room and find him?  
  
Well, JJ thought it was oddly complimenting. If a little weird.  
  
'May I come in?'  
  
'I don't think so, lady,' JJ said, thinking of Isabella. Even if Isabella understood the woman's adoration, (which of course she would, Isabella was the most understanding), he doubted very much she'd approve of JJ letting this go any further.  
  
Before JJ could say anything else, the woman was holding up her phone. The large, expensive screen blinded JJ for a moment as it was held so close to his face, but slowly it began to come into focus.  
  
'Is this you?' the woman asked the JJ took in the photo she was showing him and JJ's stomach sank.  
  
It was of him. In that restaurant, from the other day. With _that_ guy.  
  
JJ grabbed the woman by her outstretched hand, tugging her into the bedroom and slamming the door behind them. The woman composed herself quickly, taking in the room gracefully as she walked over to one of the armchairs, sitting down and facing JJ with an impassive look on her face.  
  
'Alright,' JJ hissed, trying to ignore the way his heart was thundering. 'Who are you?'  
  
'My name is Meredith,' she answered, putting the phone down on the desk screen-up. She fished in the inside of one of her suit-pockets, taking out what looked like a small business card. 'Meredith Thorton, Conselor-at-Law.'  
  
Meredith held the business card out. JJ took it cautiously, like it might do something to him. He looked at the embossed card where it read _Meredith C. Thorton: Burke and Heston Attorneys at Law._ It looked real enough. But then again, Nikiforov claimed he was a natural blonde, so JJ knew that it was always best to take things with a heavy pinch of salt.  
  
'What do you want?' JJ asked, because it was all he really wanted to know. Was she here to arrest him? JJ was trying really hard not to panic, but he could feel sweat bead at the back of his neck. She couldn't prove anything. He didn't even do _anything_ with that guy.  
  
'I'm not here to threaten you, Jean,' Meredith said smoothly, brushing out a crease in her skirt from where she was sitting. 'I'm not interested in you, or what you do in your spare time. However, I am very interested in who you spend that time with.'  
  
'We didn't do anything!' JJ snapped, hiding his shaking hands behind his back. He refused to let this Meredith person intimidate him. He was JJ Leroy- king of figure skating! He could probably lift her over his head with ease. He had nothing to be afraid of.  
  
Meredith smiled and it looked wrong. Like it was cold and it sent a shiver down JJ's spine uncontrollably.  
  
'Like I said, I'm not interested in any of that.'  
  
'Then what do you want?'  
  
'I want you to help me, Jean,' Meredith said, the way she said JJ's name making him sick to his stomach. Only his mother called him Jean. 'I want you to help me get a meeting with Eros.'  
  
JJ frowned, confused. 'Why do you need me for that?'  
  
'This man isn't stupid, Jean,' Meredith replied coolly, using JJ's name again like she knew how much it bothered him. Knew how it got under his skin. 'And I guess you could say I lack the acting skill. But you're a performer, right? You can tell any story. Convince anyone?'  
  
She was saying the words so sweetly, but there was something her eyes that had JJ suspicious. It couldn't be that easy. Whatever this was, JJ didn't want any part of it. That Eros guy seemed alright enough, but if he was in trouble with the law than JJ wanted to put their meeting as far behind them as he could get it.  
  
'I don't think that's such a good idea,' JJ said, impressed with his ability to keep his voice even. JJ stood aside, holding a hand out towards the door. 'I think you should leave.'  
  
Meredith sighed, placing her briefcase down from where it had been sitting on her lap. She stood up, taking her phone with her. She took slow, deliberate steps towards JJ, heels silent on the thick carpet.  
  
'I was really hoping we could go around this,' she said and JJ automatically took a step back, hands coming up between them. 'But I don't think your charming fiancée will be all too pleased when I reveal to her what exactly you get up to on these competitive excursions.'  
  
'Leave her out of this!' JJ cried immediately, the thought of Isabella getting dragged into this weird- whatever it was- hitting him first, the dread of her finding out what he had done coming crashing down second. He was definitely shaking now, unable to hide it. Meredith suddenly seemed so much more her age, so much older and JJ felt so young. 'We- we just talked! I don't even know the guy!'  
  
'Call him,' Meredith said, holding her phone aloft like it was weapon. She smiled sweetly again. 'Please.'  
  
JJ wanted to tell her to _piss off_ , kick her out of his room. But there was something about her that held his gaze, even as he moved slowly towards the bedside cabinet to where his phone was. He picked it up, fingers shaking as he unlocked it and scrolled through his recent calls. He found the unmarked number, hitting dial.  
  
Fine. He'd do it. He'd call the guy and set up their meeting and then this Meredith could just leave. Leave and forget JJ was ever involved.  
  
_'We're sorry. But this number is disconnected. Please check you have dialed correctly.'  
  
_ JJ dropped the phone from his ear, dumbstruck. Meredith clicked her tongue impatiently and JJ forced himself to look at her. 'It says the number's been disconnected.'  
  
Meredith sighed, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.  
  
'I had been afraid of that. The website's moved, too. So you don't have a more recent number?'  
  
'No!' JJ said, waving the phone manically. 'I told you! I don't even know him. We had lunch and that was it.'  
  
'Then I guess I'll leave you get back to your evening,' Meredith said and JJ was half-sure he'd imagined it as it sounded too good to be true. Just like that? They were done?  
  
Meredith picked up her briefcase and for one, great moment JJ thought she might leave. But instead she came back up towards him again, stepping into his space. JJ backed up until he felt the bedside table hit his knees. Up close, JJ could see the wrinkles on her face. The crows feet at her eyes. She watched him carefully, lips pursed.  
  
'If you get any new information, I'd very much like to hear from you,' she said. Meredith tilted her head, nodding down to JJ's hand. 'You have my card now, after all.'  
  
'You're crazy,' JJ said because it was all he could think of to say. Meredith sighed again, sounding very frustrated. 'Why would I do that?'  
  
'I'm really not trying to scare you here, Jean. But like or not, you've gotten yourself roped into something much bigger than you,' she said, eyes a stormy grey as they watched JJ from underneath thin, narrowed brows. 'You can wax poetic all you like about _just talking_. But at the end of the day, if you want to get out of this without your fiancée or the ISU finding out about your little lunch, then you'll need friends on your side.'  
  
JJ swallowed, tightening his grip on the card in his hand. Meredith's face softened a little, but if anything that just made JJ feel all the more uncertain.  
  
'Friends like me.'

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pupsik - baby, (but like the most ridiculous version of it because Victor is Extra™ and totally would use pupsik like a massive dork)  
> Vy prekrasny - you're beautiful  
> bezumno krasivaya - gorgeous  
> kuso - damn  
> Dostatochno - enough  
> ne seychas - not now  
> starik - geezer
> 
> LADS my laptop crashed and I thought this edited chapter had been lost because I'm so fucking dumb. I was like: 'I'm not gonna draft this to AO3 til it's completely edited, save time in posting'.
> 
> And then it was gone and I'm ngl I cried man, a lot. But luckily, past-me saved someof it to Google Docs. Unfortunately more recent-past me didn't figure that out until now because I'm a fucking idiot or whatever. So while not the original edit, I hope this still does okay for you! 
> 
> pls forgive me for my bad author skills


	8. Followed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Phichit enables.

Victor was putting it off.  
  
It was so late now. Almost eight-o-clock. Eros was bound to think that Victor had changed his mind, had dismissed the idea of seeing him. When really quite the opposite was true. Victor wanted to see Eros so badly that it had consumed his thoughts throughout the day, his entire free-skate being a show of affection towards the man. Victor hoped Eros had been watching. That he'd understood what Victor had been trying to tell him.

Each extension, each counter- a carefully constructed invitation. Even the commentators for Skate America had mentioned how enamoured they were- surely that was a sign that Eros, if he had been watching, would've been, too? Victor needed Eros to have understood.  
  
That meant more than the gold medal did, if Victor was being honest.  
  
Victor had to do it. He should text him, now. Now.  
  
Victor lay back on the hotel bed, looking at the number on his phone. Marked as _Katsudon_ since Friday, Victor thumbed at it idly, wondering how best to draft the text message.  
  
_Dear Eros..._ No, that wasn't right.  
  
_Eros, I'm so sorry..._ Closer, but it still sounded so weak.  
  
_Darling..._ Definitely not.  
  
It was more than explaining about his confiscated wallet. Which Victor was reluctant to do. As that was to open a whole other can of worms, in that Victor, (a twenty-seven year old adult), was incapable of standing up to his coach. It wasn't like Eros would want to hear about that whole story, anyway. That would most certainly be outside the realms of _professional boundaries._ Unless therapy was a branch of escorting Victor wasn't aware of.  
  
In the end, Victor hit call a little impulsively, not even sure a call was something Eros would answer.  
  
One ring, two rings, three- Victor was starting to panic now, wondering if he'd even get through at all. What if Eros had another incident with his phone and this wasn't the number he used anymore? Was that likely to happen twice? Would he even let Victor know?  
  
Maybe Eros didn't answer phone calls. Was this too forward-?  
  
'Hello,' a voice said and Victor jumped on the bed, leaping into a sitting position like it might help him hear better. Victor was smiling, spare hand fidgeting with the cuffs of his kit as he folded his legs up under him.  
  
'Hello, _katsudon,_ ' Victor said and he heard the small huff of laughter at the other end of the phone. Most people sounded different on the phone, but Eros sounded exactly the same. Victor liked the sound of his voice. His American English was less grating than the genuine accent, the way he said the words soft like they were something you could sleep in.  
  
'Do you still want to see me tonight?' Eros asked, easy flirtation over the phone and Victor looked at the bed he was sitting on. It had been turned-down while he had been competing, all evidence of Eros' presence gone. Except for the fact that Victor's jumper was also gone.  
  
Victor wanted to say yes so badly.  
  
'I'm so sorry, _miliy,'_ Victor said, reluctant to say any of it but knowing he'd have to. 'But I'm afraid I won't be able to make an appointment for tonight.'  
  
Victor didn't want to admit that it was because his funds had been confiscated by a cranky old Soviet, hoping Eros wouldn't push, but Victor also hoped that Eros didn't think it was anything he had done. Eros was silent on the other end of the phone for a moment, but when he spoke it was all with practiced tone.  
  
'Don't be sorry. These things happen,' he said and Victor felt his heart drop with sadness. 'I was happy to see you when I did.'  
  
'I wish I could see you!' Victor blurted out, mentally kicking himself immediately after as that wasn't a very cool, sexy thing to say. Eros said nothing, just a small intake of breath of the other end of the phone. Victor wondered if he had the surprised look on his face that Victor so admired. 'I want nothing more than to do so. I- I've just had a bit of trouble with my finances.'  
  
It seemed so crude, to bring up the money. But Victor wanted to be clear, didn't want Eros to think for one moment that Victor wouldn't be seeing him if he had any means to do so. Because Victor would, of course he would. The only reason he didn't was because Yakov was a terrible snoop and Victor was too much of a coward to stand up to him.  
  
For... reasons.  
  
'I see,' Eros said at last.  
  
Victor felt like a fool. It felt like an excuse, although humiliating and even worse, a  _true_ one. He flushed, face hot and still fidgeting, unable to stay still as embarrassment flooded him. Victor bounced a little on the bed. What a thing to admit to. Should he explain? Would Eros let him? It really was hard to explain without sounding a bit weak-willed. At best.  
  
'Perhaps I'll see you again next time you're in the States,' Eros started, voice easy and practiced but Victor spoke over him, spouting the words out awkwardly.  
  
'Wait, before you go!'  
  
'Yes?' Eros said, tone slightly hopeful. Or maybe that was just what Victor wanted to hear.  
  
'Did you see the free-skate?' Victor asked, because he needed to know. Eros stumbled a bit on the phone, all endearing stuttering and Victor felt like his heart might run away with just the sound of it.  
  
'Oh! Um, yes. I did. You were amazing,' Eros said, laughing softly at the end of the sentence. 'You always are.'   
  
Victor grinned, pride swelling inside of him. He took the words and considered them, just for a moment. Just long enough to really let them sink in. Victor wanted to keep those words in a box somewhere, so he could take them out and admire them whenever he pleased. Eros had no idea- absolutely no idea the things he did to Victor.   
  
'I'm glad you liked it,' Victor said, aborting his confession that the skate had been for Eros. That seemed a bit too much. Whatever they were doing now was nice, but Victor could tell it was delicate. Like all interactions with Eros over the last two days, the adrenaline of their first meeting fast-evaporating to reveal this tenuous emotion between them. Or maybe it was just Victor. 

Victor really hoped it wasn't just him. 

'I should let you go,' Eros said though he sounded disappointed. Victor looked around the room, desperate for any inspiration to keep the conversation going.  
  
'You still have my jumper!' Victor said, just remembering as his eyes fell on his mess of a suitcase. This was perfect! A great excuse to see Eros, without the preamble or the expectation. Maybe Victor could-  
  
'Of course. My apologies,' Eros said and Victor's thoughts stopped cold. He sounded off, why did he sound off? Was he unhappy? 'Where would you like me to send it?'  
  
'I-uh,' Victor paused, not sure what to make of that. Couldn't he just come and pick it up in person? Was that not an option?  
  
'I wouldn't want to keep it from you,' Eros continued and he definitely sounded more distant. Victor stammered, feeling unsure. He'd never been one for feeling so nervous, but Eros seemed to bring that out in him. Eros shifted the phone, the line crackling. 'Victor...'  
  
'Yes?' Victor said, perhaps a little eagerly.  
  
'I really did enjoy my time with you. You were...' Eros trailed off, leaving Victor waiting. But Victor didn't dare say anything, scared to interrupt in case Eros didn't finish. If this was what Eros had been going to say earlier before Yakov so rudely interrupted them, Victor wasn't sure he could take it if Eros didn't finish that sentence. 'You definitely lived up to expectation.'

Victor paused, feeling a little wrong-footed. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't that. To be honest, Victor wasn't entirely sure he knew what he was hoping for.  
  
'As did you,' Victor said, again feeling eternally grateful to Chris for introducing the two of them and trying to ignore his niggling disappointment. Eros laughed gently at the other end of the line. Victor wished he could record the sound, worried his memory wouldn't do it justice. Victor wanted to admit as such. But that was probably a bit too forward. Crossing the boundaries again. Victor back-tracked, trying for blasé. 'You really are quite the service.'  
  
'Oh,' Eros breathed and Victor paused, wondering if he'd done something wrong for the amusement to leave Eros' voice so quickly. 'Thank you. So, where would you like me to send your sweater?'  
  
'Why don't you keep it?' Victor suggested, rocking back and forth on the mattress. He was just stalling now, he knew it. But he couldn't help himself. Victor wanted to keep Eros on the phone as long as possible. 'It can be like a tip! If you can tip such a thing.'

'You don't have to do that,' Eros said sternly and Victor felt his stomach drop at the tone. 'It's yours. You should have it.'

'I want you to have it!' Victor said before he could stop himself. Eros was silent for a while, not even his breathing coming over the line. Victor waited, heart pounding with sudden nervousness. 

'Why?' Eros asked at last and Victor bit his lip, unsure how to answer that. Would it be enough to say that Victor just wanted Eros to have something of his? That it made Victor happy to think of him in his clothes? Victor couldn't help but feel that admitting to any of those things would have the complete opposite affect of relaxing Eros.   
  
'I feel you should have it,' Victor settled on at last, twisting the end of his kit up and around his ankle. He was never one for fidgeting, but the anxious energy that was pooling inside him needed to escape somehow. He thought of Eros that morning, his flayed hair and round cheeks. Eros had left Victor into something precious, something he probably kept to himself more often than not. But it had been obvious that Eros didn't know what to do with that intimacy. Maybe Victor was pushing too much, too fast. 'It's a feeling. I can't really explain it. I guess someone like you wouldn't understand.'

Victor had hoped he came across as understanding, as not wanting to take more than Eros wanted to give. But it had apparently been entirely the wrong thing to say.  
  
'Is- is that what you think of me?' Eros said slowly, upset evident in his voice. Victor panicked, leaping up the bed and running a hand through his fringe.  
  
'No, no! I just mean-'  
  
'I'm not a _thing_ ,' Eros said sternly. Victor's blood ran cold, stomach turning horribly. Before he could say anything else, Eros continued; 'Thank you for your time, Victor. I really did enjoy it. I'll be sure to send your belongings back to you.'  
  
'Wait, wait!' Victor scrambled, turning on his heel and waving his hand around, though Eros of course couldn't see him. 'Eros, you have to know-'  
  
'My name is not _Eros,'_ Eros snapped and Victor felt his throat swell with something, feeling choked. 'I thought- you know, nevermind. That was my fault. You should probably get an early night for your flight.'  
  
'Please, don't-!' Victor cried but it was too late, Eros had hung up. Victor took the phone down from his ear and stared at the wallpaper Makkachin who stared right back, brown eyes accusing.  
  
What had just happened?  
  
Victor quickly went to redial the number, but it cut off before ringing. Eros was hanging up before Victor was even getting a chance. Maybe he'd already blocked the number. Victor had seen on television, in movies, that when prostitutes got scared or upset with a client they would just block them. Was that what Eros was doing?  
  
Panicking, Victor kept trying to get through. Even typed out a few frantic text messages, but they went unread. Or at least unreplied to. But they were getting through, at least. Was Eros always so dramatic? Victor hadn't meant what he said. He most certainly didn't mean to imply that he thought Eros cold or unfeeling! Didn't Eros realise how difficult this was? To navigate the careful rules of client-escort for the _client?_ It wasn't like there was a handbook!  
  
Defeated and feeling absolutely horrendous, Victor fell back against the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, ugly disappointment and shame cloying inside him for dominance as he went over the conversation again in his head. Eros must've thought Victor had a very different image of him than Victor truly did. But didn't Eros feel what Victor felt after their night together? Victor had been so sure that the sex they had the night before had been a very, very different affair from the sex Eros would've had with any other client.  
  
Eros had sounded like maybe he was going to tell Victor the same thing. Victor had hoped so desperately he would've.  
  
_I'm an idiot,_ Victor thought miserably. He thought of Eros; his slim waist and plush mouth. Something like grief gripped Victor as he realised he may never have those things again, may never see them even. Victor had no way of contacting Eros, knew nothing about his life outside of the work he did-  
  
Except, that wasn't true.  
  
The memory came back to Victor suddenly and he sat up quickly, t-shirt bunching as he did. He opened Instagram, quickly typing the screen-name in while he still remembered.  
  
Phichit was a chance. A small one, but he was a chance to get a foot in the door of Eros' life none the less. Even if Victor just got to see Eros once more, just once, he could get the chance to explain. To apologise for being so foolish. To tell Eros that he thought he was beautiful and engaging, that Victor wanted to _know_ him. That Victor didn't want to call him _Eros_ anymore, or ever again.  
  
Like he'd said himself, it wasn't his name.  
  
Victor hit _follow.  
_  

* * *

  
'You look miserable. In fact, you couldn't look more miserable if you tried,' Phichit said from the couch as Yuuri moped around by pouring himself _another_ cup of tea. Yuuri ignored him, moving through the kitchen towards the armchair in the far corner. There, he folded himself into it like the very picture of dejection- sad, grey pyjamas and all.  
  
'I'm not miserable. I'm just tired.'  
  
'No. I'm tired, because _I_ had a competition that got me into the Grand Prix,' Phichit replied teasingly, trying to lighten the sour mood of his friend. Yuuri hummed in response, taking a sip of his tea. Phichit smiled over at him, tickling the chin of the hamster that was currently in his hand. 'Though I suppose you could be tired after your night of wild, illicit sex with Victor Nikiforov.'  
  
'Phichit!' Yuuri squeaked, glasses slipping down his nose as he jumped with shock. Phichit shook his head in disbelief.  
  
'Honestly. How are you the same person? You're blushing right now, yet I have photographic evidence of you being the most flirty flirt to ever flirt,' Phichit said, nodding to his phone on the table for emphasis. Yuuri frowned at him over his mug.  
  
'It's different. I was working,' Yuuri said, like that explained anything. Phichit rolled his eyes, standing up to replace Tibbles back in his cage, which Yuuri had made him move to the corner by the television. 'You should really delete those photos.'  
  
'I don't think so!' Phichit replied with a scoff. 'I won't post them, obviously. But you can be damn sure I'm keeping the evidence that you seduced Victor Nikiforov.'  
  
'I didn't really seduce him...' Yuuri said quietly, looking away from Phichit and staring at his mug as Phichit carefully put Tibbles back into the cage with Puy and N̂ảtāl. Phichit didn't say anything, thinking about that for a moment. He walked back over to the couch, sitting down and reaching over for shoes. He'd have to leave soon for the after-party being held in the student house of one the womens' skaters off campus.

Phichit watched Yuuri from the couch. He looked at Yuuri’s tucked legs, his small wrists. The round nose and big eyes, still watching the tea like it might give the answers to whatever questions were obviously going through his head. Something was eating at Phichit, too, but he wasn't sure how to bring it up. As the silence persisted, in the end, Phichit decided to just go for it.  
  
'Yuuri.'  
  
'Hmm?'  
  
'About yesterday. What I said...' Phichit started, feeling his chest grow tight as Yuuri stiffened on the armchair, fingers tight around his mug. Phichit swallowed awkwardly, running his hands nervously up and down his thighs. 'I- you know, I really shouldn't have said it. I didn't mean it.'  
  
'It's fine,' Yuuri responded quietly, taking another sip of his tea but not meeting Phichit's eye. Phichit felt his stomach turn uncomfortably.  
  
'I'm sorry, Yuuri.'

'I told you. It's fine.'  
  
'It's not.'  
  
'Phichit,' Yuuri sighed, closing his eyes like he was composing himself for a moment. Phichit resisted the urge to take offence; it hadn't worked out well last time. Then Yuuri was looking at him and he was smiling. 'You were right. I should've had faith in you. I was being selfish.'  
  
'Well, I understand why. Victor Nikiforov and all that,' Phichit replied, smiling back and hoping Yuuri would appreciate his joking. Yuuri let out a small laugh, before looking away again. Back into his thoughts, eyes downcast and mouth thin. Phichit thought of the evening before.  
  
Phichit had never seen Yuuri look like he had yesterday. And not just the clothes and the hair, but even just the way he moved. It was bizarrely like watching Yuuri skate- all easy confidence, a sweeping persona. Seeing Victor and Yuuri together was one of the most surreal moments of Phichit's life and looking back, he really wished he hadn't started the beer before they arrived because if he'd been a little more sober, maybe then he could've appreciated it a bit more for the insanity it was.  
  
But it was hard to keep the very rational thought that Nikiforov hiring Yuuri, ( _for sex!)_ _,_ was insane present when all Phichit had been able to focus on when it was happening was how happy Yuuri had looked.  
  
Phichit wasn't sure what to make of that, to be honest.  
  
They didn't say anything for a long while as Phichit tied his laces, Yuuri quietly drinking his tea and lost to his silent ruminations. Phichit really had to leave soon if he wanted to meet up with Leo and Guang-Hong, but he found himself unable to move from the couch.

‘How do you do it?’ Phichit asked at last, Yuuri pausing in a sip of his tea as he did. Yuuri met his gaze across the living room, glasses still slightly askew. ‘How do you switch like that? It's… You know, it was actually weird to watch. The clothes, the way you spoke.' Yuuri watched him owlishly and Phichit laughed nervously. 'Contact lenses! You hate contact lenses.’

‘Glasses aren’t exactly sexy,’ Yuuri replied, self-consciously adjusting said glasses on his nose. Phichit resisted the urge to roll his eyes again.

‘Really? That's all you have to say?’

Yuuri shrank back into the armchair, holding the mug of tea like a shield. Phichit waited, refusing to give Yuuri an out. They still hadn't gotten the chance to talk and though this was another case of the bad timing that seemed to haunt them lately, Phichit found himself actually entertaining the thought of missing the after-party so he and Yuuri could talk properly.

‘I don't know,’ Yuuri said after what felt like a long time. He wasn't looking at Phichit anymore, instead staring off towards the kitchen. ‘Like you said, it’s just like a switch. Or more like, a shift, I guess? Yeah. Like myself, but from a different angle or something.’

Phichit frowned as Yuuri spoke, trying to follow the logic. It didn't exactly sound impossible, but Phichit would be lying if he didn't think it sounded _off_. That kind of detachment didn't sound very healthy, especially from Yuuri. Phichit knew Yuuri had long struggled with the more anxious parts of his personality, had seen the different compulsions and habits Yuuri had learned to deal with it over the years. When he had been skating, Yuuri had mentioned something very similar. But in the wake of learning Yuuri's real profession, Phichit wasn't sure if the way Yuuri thought about it was really logical, or really...  
  
'So, how was your evening with Victor?' Phichit said, changing the subject because he suddenly felt a bit out of his depth to discuss _Eros and Yuuri_ any longer. Phichit wasn't sure he was in the mood to see just how much of his friend was real or not, to learn just what Yuuri was capable of convincing people of.  
  
(Maybe he was afraid to).  
  
Yuuri blushed and Phichit felt like a knot that was inside him loosened. This was familiar. This was a Yuuri Phichit could understand.  
  
'It was good,' Yuuri mumbled into his mug, looking away from Phichit again. 'Better than that actually.'  
  
'I can't believe you slept with Victor Nikiforov,' Phichit said, because it was true. The mocking Yuuri was going to get once those posters were unpacked... Phichit grinned and found himself surprised with how easy it felt to do so. Yuuri muttered something into his mug. 'What was that?'  
  
Yuuri took a deep breath.  
  
'It's actually the second time I've slept with him,' Yuuri said quickly, eyes glancing over to Phichit as he spoke. Phichit's mouth dropped open before he could stop it.  
  
'I'm sorry, _what?!'_ he exclaimed and Yuuri groaned, hanging his head. Phichit thought back over the last few days, trying to put things together, which he slowly began to do. 'Wait, wait. The guy from the other day? The one you had _a little sex_ with? Who took you ice-skating?!'  
  
'Um. Yeah. That was also Victor,' Yuuri said, shifting in the armchair. Phichit's mind stuttered on that information for a moment.  
  
_'Also?!_ How many times have you been with him? How long has this been going on?!' Phichit said, growing more hysterical as he went. Was this _another_ secret Yuuri had been keeping? How many were there? Phichit rocked back on the couch, head hitting the back of it with a dull thump. Yuuri waved a hand manically at him.  
  
'N-not long! Our first appointment was on Thursday-'  
  
_'Thursday!'_ Phichit shrieked, new energy exploding in him, causing him to leap off the couch. He stomped over to Yuuri, leaning over with his hands on his hips. Yuuri shrugged nervously. 'You mean you've been dating Victor Nikiforov since Thursday and you didn't think to mention it, at all?'  
  
Yuuri suddenly frowned, looking stern. When he spoke, his voice was low; 'We're not dating, Phichit. That's not how it works.'  
  
Phichit thought back over what he said and felt himself flush. He hadn't meant to say that. Phichit shook his head, suddenly nervous to meet Yuuri's eye. He focused on his hamsters in the corner, listening absently to their squeaking and scratching.  
  
'Right. Of course, sorry,' Phichit said sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. Yuuri fidgeted with his mug, turning it between his hands. 'I just mean, how could you not tell me?'  
  
'I didn't want to overwhelm you,' Yuuri said, still turning the mug and looking at it instead of Phichit, which despite Phichit's best efforts, was beginning to annoy him. Phichit took a breath, trying to calm himself. There was no point in getting frustrated. He'd learned that yesterday. And what Yuuri was saying was not strictly speaking unfair logic. The weekend had been- _interesting_ , to say the least.  
  
'I kept waiting for the right time. I didn't want to distract you from the competition. But then yesterday after the short-program, after our, you know-' Yuuri trailed off and Phichit felt another stab of shame at the memory of what he had said to Yuuri. Yuuri tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, like he always did when he was unsure of something. 'I didn't mean to spring Victor, or me, or any of it on you like that. I know I should've just been honest from the beginning. But...'  
  
Yuuri stopped speaking, voice trailing away until he was mumbling and then silent. Phichit didn't blame him. This was hard. No point pretending it wasn't.  
  
'Besides, Victor doesn't really matter now anyway,' Yuuri muttered, suddenly bitter and taking another sip. Phichit frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, confused. He stared down at Yuuri, knowing full well that Yuuri was definitely avoiding looking at him now. Phichit cleared his throat with purpose.  
  
'Uh, what does that mean?'  
  
'He flies back to Russia in the morning,' Yuuri said, feigning nonchalance but Phichit knew him better than that. Of that one thing, Phichit was still certain. Phichit was sure he knew Katsuki Yuuri better than Yuuri knew himself; especially if Yuuri was hiding under aliases and _angles_ _,_ as he'd put himself. It didn't take much to put two and two together.  
  
'That's why you're miserable,' Phichit said and Yuuri didn't deny it. Instead, he just tucked himself further into the armchair. 'Because Victor's leaving.'  
  
'I don't really have a right to be miserable about it. He made that _perfectly_ clear,' Yuuri said, voice distant and words strangely cold. Phichit found he didn't like it at all. 'He's a client. Clients leave.'  
  
Phichit tried not to feel uncomfortable at the word _client_ either, instead pushing past it and focusing on the task at hand. Which was to get Yuuri out of his pity-party. Which this most definitely was, Phichit was now convinced.  
  
'But you are anyway, right?' Phichit pressed, wishing Yuuri would stop being such a baby and just look at him. Phichit shifted on his feet, awkwardly adjusting his sweater for something to do. 'I've barely seen you this weekend. That's because of Victor, isn't it?'  
  
Yuuri blushed again, now ignoring his tea entirely. 'I really liked him.'  
  
'Shocker,' Phichit deadpanned, which finally got Yuuri to look at him. Even if it was a glare. Phichit smiled, relaxing a bit now he could read Yuuri's expression. 'Of course you liked him. How could you, Victor Nikiforov's number one fan, not end up liking him after like- what? Three days of continuous sex?'  
  
'No,' Yuuri said a little quickly, causing Phichit to pause. Yuuri bit his lip again, before rolling his shoulders dramatically and sighing even more so. 'It's not like that. I don't mean I _liked_ him. Just... I thought he was nice. He was different to what I expected.'  
  
Phichit thought about that for a moment, not quite understanding. Slowly though, it began to dawn on him as Yuuri kept staring up at him with his imploring eyes, like a kicked puppy. Phichit opened his mouth in a small _oh_ of surprise. He laughed, though he knew he probably shouldn't. But really, did Yuuri really expect Phichit to believe that?  
  
'Are you kidding?' Phichit scoffed and Yuuri just frowned at him, clearly disapproving of Phichit's amusement.  
  
'Stop mocking me.'  
  
'Absolutely not,' Phichit said, laughing still. 'Is admitting you're going to miss him really that bad?'  
  
'I'm not going to miss him,' Yuuri replied, sounding petulant which only caused Phichit to laugh even more.   
  
'You're impossible,' Phichit teased. 'Need I remind you that I have photographic proof of you “not-liking” Victor Nikiforov?'  
  
'You really do need to delete those,' Yuuri grumbled meekly. Phichit shook his head, turning to get his phone from the table. _Shit._ Checking the time, Phichit was definitely late now. He'd have to make his own way to the party. Suddenly, the idea came to him. He faced Yuuri again, who narrowed his eyes back Phichit. 'What? What are you looking at me like that for?'  
  
'You should come with me tonight,' Phichit suggested, enjoying Yuuri's look of surprise.  
  
'No, no! That's not happening!' Yuuri stammered, standing up and heading towards the kitchen, putting the coffee-table between himself and Phichit.  
  
'It'll do you some good! C'mon, if you're just going to lurk here feeling sorry for yourself because the man you're in love with is leaving, then you may as well do it with a drink in your hand,' Phichit said, following Yuuri into the kitchen and tugging on his pyjama top incessantly. Yuuri muttered something about _not being in love_ with Victor, but Phichit ignored it as it was most certainly not true.  
  
'I don't drink.'  
  
'You did yesterday!'  
  
'That was a special occasion.'  
  
'Sure was,' Phichit replied, wiggling his eyebrows as Yuuri threw a filthy look over his shoulder at him. 'Please, Yuuri! I promise you'll have fun.'  
  
'You're in no position to promise that. Besides, I'm already in my pyjamas,' Yuuri said lamely, gesturing to the offending clothing. Phichit really did roll his eyes at that. He stomped a foot childishly, swinging his hands like he remembered doing as a child when his mother would tell him _no_ in the shops.  
  
' _Yuuri-kun~'_ Phichit pleaded, knowing he was going to win by the way Yuuri blushed at the suffix. How could Phichit ever have doubted how well he knew this guy? 'Please! I've officially qualified for the Grand Prix! Come and have at least one drink with me about it! And if you're still miserable, I promise we can leave early.'  
  
'You never leave early,' Yuuri said, but Phichit knew his resolve was breaking.  
  
'I will for you, cross my heart!' Phichit boasted, actually crossing his heart with a hand for emphasis. Yuuri watched him, lips pursed. Phichit waited. Any second now-  
  
'Fine!' Yuuri groaned, throwing his eyes to the ceiling. He pointed a finger at Phichit, eyes stern. 'One drink! But then I'm going home. Do not let me get drunk!'  
  
Phichit grinned, triumphant and leapt at Yuuri, hugging him tightly. Yuuri pushed him off with a blush, before shuffling out of the kitchen to go and get changed. Phichit watched him go, taking his phone up to take a celebratory selfie for Snapchat. But as Phichit brought the phone up, he froze as he saw one of the notifications on the lockscreen.  
_  
v-nikiforov has requested to follow you  
  
_ The noise that escaped Phichit he would never have described as a scream, but it wasn't too far off one either. Phichit jumped up and down for a moment in the kitchen. He vaguely remembered asking Victor the night before to follow him, but he never thought for one moment that _the_ Victor Nikiforov would actually go through with it! Phichit was just about to call Yuuri when he stopped himself.  
  
Yuuri would probably tell him to decline the request. He may even freak out further and ask Phichit to block Victor altogether. That was the kind of _run-away-from-my-problems_ tactic that was classic Katsuki.  
  
Phichit opened the request, staring down at the little symbols for _accept_ and _reject_.  
  
Yuuri didn't have social media. Of any kind. Phichit had always thought that was weird, but given recent revelations, Phichit understood it a lot more now. And Yuuri had always been strict, asking Phichit to never name him in any photos Phichit posted. Which Phichit never had, because he was a good friend. It wasn't like Yuuri would ever know...  
  
No. That was bad. Phichit couldn't really hold the moral high-ground over Yuuri for lying about his profession if Phichit was going to lie about this. Could he? Though, it wasn't even like he was _lying_ , exactly. Just not telling Yuuri. That was different, right? Yuuri didn't tell him lots of things. This was only fair. Wasn't it? And having Victor Nikiforov following his Instagram would do amazing things for Phichit's own online presence, especially in the skating community.  
  
Also it _Victor freaking Nikiforov._  
  
Before he could think any more about it, Phichit hit _accept._ He would tell Yuuri. Later, when Yuuri had some drink in him and would be a little more open to the idea. Nobody knew Yuuri like Phichit did. So surely, if anyone could convince Yuuri that this was fine, it was Phichit?

* * *

  
Chris sat down onto Victor's bed, face already scrutinising and Victor hadn't even admitted anything yet.  
  
'I didn't expect to see you tonight, _chéri_ ,' he said, propping himself up on the pillows, long legs crossed elegantly and hands folded on his lap. He watched Victor with astute eyes which Victor was now very maturely ignoring by focusing on his phone. Victor perched himself in one of the armchairs by the desk, idly scrolling through Instagram.  
  
'What do you mean? Not happy to see me?' he deflected, liking a photo Yuri recently uploaded of his cat back in St. Petersburg, mostly just to spite the younger skater who always complained that Victor was cyber-stalking him.  
  
His flight for Moscow was at 6:40AM the next morning and Victor wasn't sure how he felt about it. Not good anyway.  
  
'I'm always happy to see you, _chéri._ But I can't help but think you're using me as a distraction for something,' Chris said, glancing around the room before frowning at the bedside table. 'This wouldn't have anything to do with your coach, would it?'  
  
'I don't want to talk about it.'  
  
'I see. So I'm here for you to _not-talk_ to?' Chris joked and Victor looked up from his phone to give Chris the biggest glare he could muster. Chris chuckled softly. 'I know I'm irresistible, but this is unusual. Even for you. Maybe even especially for you. I didn't think the great Victor Nikiforov got lonely.'  
  
'I'm not lonely!' Victor snapped, defensive. Chris raised an eyebrow at him. Victor flushed, fidgeting with his phone. 'Alright. Maybe I'm a little lonely.'  
  
'I was under the impression you'd have company,' Chris said, leaning over the bed towards the bedside table. Victor looked down to his phone again. 'Coach catch you out?'  
  
'Not exactly,' Victor said, still unsure what he wanted from Chris, though Chris had been kind enough to abandon his boyfriend to come keep Victor company. Truth be told, Victor had just been going insane alone in the hotel room, going over his conversation with Eros over and over in his head. Eros had sounded so distant on the phone, so far removed from the man Victor had made love to the night before. Victor was worried he'd done something he wouldn't be able to fix. Was worried he'd run out of time.  
  
'So. You won't be seeing Eros again before you leave?' Victor still couldn't look at Chris, sinking lower into the armchair and pretending to be engrossed in his phone. Chris sighed dramatically, shaking his head in the corner of Victor's eye.  
  
Victor continued to scroll aimlessly through Instagram, ignoring the rolling notifications of likes he was getting to keep himself from impatiently tapping. He tapped a heart over Chris’ latest post, (‘ _Dîner avec mon chéri <3 #romance), _who apparently had chosen to celebrate his bronze with his choreographer earlier that evening. Victor tried not to feel a small twinge of jealousy, wishing he could've spent the evening with who he wanted, too.  
  
'Maybe it's for the best. These affairs are best when short, don't you think, _chéri?'_  
  
Whatever Chris was talking about went ignored entirely however as one of the notifications Victor got was _chulanont+phichit accepted your follow request._

Victor sat up straight in the chair immediately, curling his legs up as he quickly went to Phichit’s Instagram, Chris' inquiries going ignored.

Phichit had been a private account when Victor had looked him up earlier, which surprised Victor if he was honest. But clearly he wasn't too strict, as according to his Instagram, he had just over 100,000 followers. Impressive for his first Grand Prix season.   
  
'What is this? Where did you even get it?'

Victor scrolled through the photos, impressed with Phichit’s ability to get what appeared to be the _perfect_ lighting in every selfie he took and completely ignoring whatever Chris was saying. But Victor was looking for something very particular. He had hoped Phichit had uploaded the photos from their evening after the short-program. But it seemed Phichit had taken Eros seriously and chosen not upload them.

However, that wasn't to say Victor was disappointed, as once he scrolled through Phichit’s numerous selfies from Skate America, he found something most unexpected.

'Is this Eros' watch?'

It was a photo of Eros, in what looked like a small bed. Almost like something from the skater dorms for the juniors back in St Petersburg. He was stretching shirtless, clearly just woken up with the sun casting him into a beautiful silluoette. Victor liked it before he could think about it, reading Phichit’s caption.

_Surprise abs! #bfgoals #fitfam #strikeapose #candid_

Victor really, really hoped _#bf_ stood for ‘best-friend.’ But Eros was shirtless… Would Eros have told him if he was dating Phichit? He told Victor he wasn't dating anyone. And Phichit called Eros by his alias that night, so clearly Phichit was somewhat aware of Eros’ profession and he seemed fine with Eros being with Victor. That meant the likelihood of them dating was small, right? But they were clearly _very_ close.

‘Victor, are you even listening to me?’

Victor frowned, continuing to scroll and finding more photos of Eros than he expected.

He looked adorable. Smiling, sometimes caught off guard. And Victor got to see the famous glasses. They weren't as refined as Victor imagined them to be, the frames quite chunky and bright blue.

 _They suit him,_ Victor thought with a smile, liking another selfie Phichit had taken of he and Eros on a bed somewhere.

'I'm going to throw myself out of this window. Life is just too cruel for me anymore. The world's Victor Nikiforov has dismissed me from his attentions. My heart is too broken to go on. _Au revoir, mes amis!'_

There was never a name tagged, just the same hashtag of _#bfgoals._ Victor pouted to himself, trying not to let his mind run away with itself. It probably just meant _best-friend goals_ and even if it didn't, it really was none of Victor’s business. Photos of Eros had comments disabled. Victor wondered if Eros asked Phichit for that.  
  
'VICTOR!'  
  
Victor jumped at the sudden outburst. He looked over to the bed, where Chris was sitting and looking incredibly exasperated as he held something aloft in his hand. Victor blinked, slowly taking in what Chris was holding. It was a watch. Black leather straps, white-face and elegant. It looked familiar, but it wasn't Victor's-  
  
'Oh my god!' Victor said, leaping off the armchair and scrambling onto the bed. He half-straddled Chris, settling on his lap as he pulled the watch out of Chris' hand. 'Where did you get this?'  
  
'It was on the bedside table,' Chris said, clearly amused at the situation as he took in Victor sitting on him. Victor ignored him, turning the watch over his hand like it could magically reveal to Victor where Eros was right in that moment so he could go and return it. This was perfect. If there was only a way Victor could get through to Eros... 'What are you doing with Eros' watch?'  
  
'Hmm? Oh, I didn't know he left it. The turn-down team must've left it there when they remade the bed earlier.' Victor wasn't really listening even as he answered Chris, instead still studying the watch. Then, slowly, Chris' words registered. He looked up, taking Chris' bemused expression. 'How did you know this was Eros' watch?'  
  
'I bought it for him,' Chris said simply and Victor's brain stopped, frozen on the words. Chris laughed, shaking his head a little and carefully guiding Victor off his lap. 'It was about two years ago. Just a small thank you gift.'  
  
Jealousy, hot and thick erupted inside of Victor but he squashed it down. If anything, Chris was more entitled to get Eros something than Victor was. But the thought that the thing Eros had put so sinfully between his teeth just the night before had come from someone else, not just someone else but _Chris-_ it just didn't seem to sit right. Victor swallowed thickly, knowing that however irrationally pleasing it would be to not return the watch and instead buy Eros a new one as a makeshift apology gift, the watch right now was Victor's best hope of getting Eros to talk to him.  
  
'Chris, I need you to call Eros,' Victor said seriously, sitting down next to Chris and taking his shoulder in hand. Chris frowned, looking puzzled. 'I need to see him.'  
  
'Victor, we talked about this-'  
  
'Chris, please. I'm asking, as my friend,' Victor implored, leaning over to try and convince Chris with as big a pout as he could muster. Chris bit his lip, still looking unsure. Victor sighed. 'I owe him an apology and he won't answer my calls. _S'il-te-plait, chéri.'  
  
_ Using French was definitely a low blow, but it worked as Chris rolled his eyes towards the ceiling and took out his own phone. Expensive rose-gold, without a cover. Chris was so flashy, goodness. Victor shook his own head. Now was not the time to get distracted! He opened Eros' new number for Chris to copy, ignoring Chris' curious look at the contact name.  
  
Chris called twice, but no answer on both counts. Chris gave Victor a sympathetic look. 'I'm sorry, my friend. But it looks like he's not answering tonight. Maybe he's working.'  
  
'That's what I'm afraid of,' Victor mumbled, falling down onto the bed dejectedly. Chris watched him, hazel eyes swirling with thought.  
  
'Why do you need to apologise to him?' he asked in a tone that suggested he was being very careful and Victor tried not to bristle at it, ignoring the offence he felt at being treated like a child once again.  
  
'I think I insulted him. I didn't mean to! It's just confusing,' Victor admitted, bypassing being angry and instead looking for the relief of confessing. Chris hummed quietly, adjusting his beautiful grey jumper. 'I'm not sure of the boundaries.'  
  
'Why am I not surprised?' Chris said and it didn't sound like a scold, but Victor glared at him anyway. Chris laughed, a light noise that filled the hotel room. 'Eros can be quite jumpy. I've noticed it throughout the years.'  
  
Victor felt another stab of jealousy as Chris casually mentioned how much longer he'd known Eros than Victor.  
  
'People are complicated, Victor,' Chris opined kindly, patting a hand on Victor's chest sympathetically. 'I'm sure if you explain, Eros will forgive you. He must get all sorts in his profession.'  
  
'He seemed to take this very personally,' Victor grumbled petulantly, absently running a hand along Chris' leg. It was comfortable, sitting with Chris like this. But Victor's heart still felt heavy, stomach still twisting uncomfortably with anxiety over Eros. Chris didn't say anything for a while, but when he did, his voice was soft.  
  
'Maybe it's because you're different,' he said and Victor looked him in the eye at that. Chris held his gaze, looking strangely wistful. 'He never accepted more than one evening with me at a time, no matter how upfront I offered to cover. But you got three. In a row.'  
  
Victor mulled that over for a moment, wondering if he dare hope. Chris smiled again, all genuine emotion and Victor felt like any jealousy he may have had melt away entirely in the wake of it.  
  
'Maybe with you, it is personal, _chéri.'_  
  
Before Victor could say anything, he noticed his phone light up next to him. Hopefully and perhaps a little stupidly thinking that Eros had texted him back, Victor quickly sat up and fumbled with it. But it was just a notification from Instagram.  
  
_See chulanont+phichit's first story on Instagram!_

Curious, Victor opened the link.  
  
It must've been from the party the other skaters were attending. It was a loud, blurry video of a bunch of people standing at a kitchen table about to do shots, with Phichit cheering happily in the background. Victor watched as Leo, the American skater from the night before and a few of the womens' skaters he only barely recognised, all downed their shots. Then there was a laugh from off camera, one Victor recognised instantly.  
  
Phichit had turned his phone in the story, catching the red-cheeks and smiling face of Eros, who had just polished off his own shot. He looked very different than when Victor had ever seen him, but Victor knew him immediately. His big brown eyes caught the camera and it was like he was looking at Victor directly, himself and Phichit laughing merrily as music blared. Then it ended.  
  
'What was that?' Chris asked, looking over Victor's shoulder as the story ended. 'Was that Eros?'  
  
'I have to go!' Victor said, bouncing off the bed and beginning to pull his t-shirt off. Chris made to get off the bed as well, eyes widening as Victor stripped and headed towards the wardrobe.  
  
'Where are you going?' Chris asked, but Victor ignored him as he pulled a white shirt from the wardrobe, throwing it on over himself and then moving to change his trousers. If he was going to see Eros, he wanted to look at least a little more put together. Looking handsome would certainly not hurt him in the whole being forgiven department, right?  
  
'The party. The skaters one.'  
  
'The campus party?' Chris asked, incredulous. He shook his head as Victor sat down, tying his shoes. 'Because Eros is there?'  
  
'I told you! I have to apologise!'  
  
'Is it really that important?' Chris asked and Victor groaned.  
  
'Of course it is!' Victor said, standing up, pocketing his phone and Eros' watch. 'I told you, I need to see him. Not just to apologise, I just... I need to see him, Chris.'  
  
'But you don't even know where the party is!' Chris said lamely, shrugging.  
  
'Do you?' Victor asked and Chris sighed loudly.  
  
'Yes,' he said and he put his hands on his hips. He gave Victor a very stern look, but it suddenly faded away to an amused smirk. 'Nikiforov, you're really something. C'mon! Let's go!'  
  
Victor smiled, excitement brewing. This was his chance. He knew it.

 

* * *

  
Phichit had made a mistake. A big mistake. Though not as big as the serving of champagne Yuuri was now pouring into the Garfield mug one of the womens’ skaters had given him for his drink. Phichit caught the edge of Yuuri’s hand, trying to steady the mug but Yuuri was so off-balance it teetered anyway, champagne sloshing down both their hands.

‘Maybe you should slow down there, guy?’ Phichit suggested, Yuuri’s unfocused eyes trained on putting the very expensive bottle of champagne he had bought on the way to the party back on the kitchen table.

‘Hmm? No, ‘m fine, _peet-kun,’_ Yuuri slurred, Phichit’s name more a hissing between his teeth as he gave Phichit a very delirious grin.

They'd arrived at the student house just a little over two hours ago and from the moment of arrival, Yuuri had been doing his absolute damnedest to get completely and utterly _wasted_. It was fun at first, Phichit will admit. Yuuri taking shots with Leo had proven to be an Insta-worthy occasion, but as Yuuri outdrank Leo and continued to outdrink even the host of the party, a fellow rinkmate, Phichit felt like maybe he had enabled a bit too much.

Really, Phichit should've been on high alert at the off-licence when Yuuri had bought two bottles of champagne for the party. At one-hundred and fifty dollars _each._

Phichit had always suspected Yuuri to be coasting pretty okay in the financial department, at first under the impression that his fake office job had paid extremely well and then again under the knowledge that escorting paid even better. (Without tax). But Yuuri had always been frugal, to say the least. Definitely a rainy-day kind of guy. Dropping three-hundred dollars, _cash,_ on liqueur should've been a giant, neon warning sign.

But like Phichit thought, it had been fun at the time.

It was less fun now.

Yuuri abandoned his half empty bottle and sauntered his way towards the living room, Phichit following behind him with a relatively untouched homemade daquiri. (Turned out a triple lutz was not all the womens’ silver medalist was talented of). Yuuri sat himself down on the empty part of the couch, mug tilting but Garfield managed to stay upright, smirking at Phichit like he knew how Phichit was suffering. 

Phichit perched himself on the arm of the couch, watching Yuuri take a very large sip of his champagne as the latest Beyoncé chimed around them on a portable speaker somewhere.

‘Men are stupid,’ Yuuri said petulantly after a few moments of Phichit watching him somehow manage to stay swaying while sitting down.

‘Oh?’ Phichit said, not really listening as he reached over for the teetering Garfield before it emptied its contents all over Yuuri and this poor girl’s couch. ‘All of us? Collectively?’

Yuuri hummed, taking another drink of champagne as Beyoncé faded out into something with a faster beat. People started to move around them, dancing around the small, barren living room. (Well, not barren, exactly. They had a dart board above the mantle).

‘Especially Russian ones.’

‘Aha!’ Phichit said and alright, he was probably a little drunk, too to get so excited, but regardless, Phichit was happy to hear Yuuri begin to admit the truth of his evening depression. ‘So this is about Vi-’ Phichit stopped to glance around present company. ‘-uh, _you know who?’_

‘Who's that?’

Oh, for god’s-

‘You know. Vicchan, but the person,’ Phichit suggested lamely. Okay. Definitely drunk, too.

Yuuri gave Phichit a very ineffective side-eye from behind his glasses. ‘Maybe.’

‘Have you slept with other Russians?’

‘Yes,’ Yuuri replied immediately and Phichit was so stunned at first that he didn't know what to say. Luckily, (or unluckily), Yuuri kept talking; ‘I think I've been through all… continents? Yeah. Th-those things.’

‘Wow,’ Phichit said because it was the only thing he could think of to say. ‘So that's… like, a lot of guys then. Damn, Yuuri.’

‘You impreshed?’ Yuuri muttered, eyeing Garfield suspiciously like it was the cat’s fault Yuuri couldn't seem to hold steady.

Phichit let out a low whistle. ‘Yeah, actually. I really didn't think you had it in you.’

Taking a sip of his daiquiri, (which was amazing, wow), Phichit looked around the room. Leo had managed to rope a very, very red-faced Guang-Hong into a dance over by the window and most of the guests who weren't skaters but friends and local students were nodding along politely to the skating conversation. It was a good party. Phichit should be having fun. But he found himself looking back at Yuuri, who still looked infinitely miserable despite being so drunk. There was no fun to be had if Yuuri was sad.

‘Maybe Vicchan was a sign,’ Phichit tried, careful not to push too much. Yuuri blinked at him, brown eyes swimming and _oh god was he going to cry?!_ Yuuri gave him a puzzled frown.

‘A sign?’ he asked, holding Garfield to his chest and tilting his chin. Phichit sighed. This right here was why Yuuri still got carded. He looked about twelve. ‘O-fuh… Of what?’

‘I don't know!’ Phichit cried, waving his red cup of daiquiri for emphasis. Yuuri watched the movement with his shiny eyes, the sight of them making Phichit feel a surge of protectiveness course through him. This was _his_ best-friend. And Victor Nikiforov made him sad. Therefore- ‘Just forget about Vicchan! Forget about all of it. It's been a weird few days. Take a break or something!’

The thought stuck. Phichit paused, mulling it over for a bit. Yuuri said nothing, swaying still to the music, (or the excessive champagne, who could tell?)

‘Maybe you should take a break,’ Phichit said slowly, the idea sounding even better out loud. Yuuri chewed the inside of his cheek, making himself look even more adorable. This only served to make Phichit even more sure that his idea would protect Yuuri. ‘I'm not saying quit! But just take a little holiday, you know? See how us normal people live.’

‘’M not normal?’ Yuuri mumbled and Phichit reached out, giving his friend a hug around the shoulders.

‘Oh, buddy,’ Phichit said sweetly before pulling back and looking Yuuri in the eye. ‘Of course you're not. Look at your life right now.’

Biting his lip, Yuuri seemed to think about that for a moment. The music changed again, this time a preppy Goulding beat that made Phichit want to dance himself. But Yuuri looked in no condition to dance, at all. There were many stages to a night-out, and despite it being so early, Yuuri looked ready for stage six, which was crying in the bathroom about the unfairness of love. Phichit hoped Yuuri was seriously thinking about his suggestion of taking a break. If this is what happened after just three days of Nikiforov-whatever, then maybe Yuuri wasn't as put-together as he made himself out to be.  
  
_Or maybe Victor Nikiforov was just special._

‘Hmm,’ Yuuri hummed, tapping his fingers on Garfield’s nose along to the beat of the song. ‘No. A break would be no good.’

Sitting up straighter, Yuuri raised a hand off his mug in something akin to a faux-Scout’s Honour. Phichit watched, bemused and disappointed.

 _‘The best way to get over someone is to sleep with someone else as fast as possible,’_ Yuuri said like he was reciting an oath of some kind. The two other people of the couch glanced over with looks of confused delight on their faces as Phichit felt his face grow hot.

He spluttered; ‘Who told you that, Yuuri?! That is bad advice! Maybe even the worst advice I’ve ever heard!’

Yuuri paused, blinked his dark eyes and then shook his head, black bangs fluttering around his red cheeks.

‘Okay. Yeah, maybe. Hannah was never good at like-’ Yuuri waved his hands vaguely, Garfield swooping. _‘-feelings.’_

‘I can see that,’ Phichit said, wondering how much Hannah had managed to mess Yuuri up without him ever noticing. Guilt suddenly pooled in his stomach, heavy and leaden. He should've been a better friend. No wonder Yuuri hadn't trusted him all these years. ‘I’m sorry, Yuuri.’

‘Pfft, what for?’ Yuuri giggled, taking another sip of his champagne.

‘I'll tell you later,’ Phichit said, reaching over and placing a kiss on top of Yuuri’s head. Yuuri giggled again. 'How about we just forget about Vicchan, and work, and men. If you can forgive me for being one as well.'  
  
'You are a good man! The best man!' Yuuri cried, eyes wide like Phichit was crazy for suggesting anything otherwise. Phichit smiled, meeting the eye of the girl sitting next to them. He mouthed an apology as Yuuri bounced a little in his seat to face Phichit properly. Then Yuuri was frowning with a thought; ‘I would know. I've slept with a _lot_ of them.’

Phichit choked, having never imagined Yuuri saying anything like that in a million years. And loudly, too. The two people sharing the couch at them glanced over, drunken interest and amusement on their faces. Phichit smiled, trying to urge Yuuri up off the couch quickly.

‘Maybe we should go somewhere else?’

‘Nine-hundred and seventeen.’

‘What?’ Phichit stopped in his mild shoving, confused. Yuuri nodded thoughtfully over his mug of champagne, looking unfairly adorable in his soft blue sweater and messy hair despite being so horrendously shitfaced.

‘That's how many men I've slept with,’ Yuuri said, straightening up and puffing his chest. ‘I’m good at it, too.’

‘I'm sure you are!’ Phichit squeaked with embarrassment at Yuuri’s admission. If they were home and Phichit had this confession-session to himself, he might be enjoying himself. In public, surrounded by their friends from the rink _and_ some of Phichit's season competitors, Phichit was very afraid that Yuuri was going to drop the e-word. ‘Let’s see if there are seats left outside on the back porch, yeah?’

‘But it's _coooold_ out there,’ Yuuri whined, stubbornly and loudly as Phichit took his hand and dragged Yuuri up off the couch, back towards the kitchen.

Phichit tried to shush him, free hand coming up to try and cover Yuuri’s mouth. This prompted Yuuri to swing an arm wildly, knocking Phichit’s poor, neglected daiquiri out of his hand and straight down the dress of the girl standing in the doorway.

‘ _Chyort!’_ she squealed, big blue eyes wide with the cold drink and a very, very obvious red stain on her once-pale pink dress. Phichit froze, mouth open in shock and hands open in surrender. He recognised the girl immediately. Mila Babicheva, gold medalist in the womens' skate and rinkmate to Victor Nikiforov.  
  
'Oh, my god! I'm so sorry!' Phichit said, desperately looking around for something to help clean up the mess. For which there was nothing. Mila was shivering now, the ice pooled around her heeled feet and daiquiri dripping down her legs.  
  
'Why don't you look where you're going?!' Mila shrieked, accent very sharp in Phichit's ears. Yuuri groaned loudly next to them, bringing Phichit's attention back to him.  
  
'Great, _more_ Russians,' Yuuri muttered, seemingly finishing his mug of champagne going by the large tip he gave the thing over his mouth. Mila pouted, hands on her slender hips and red hair flared around her angry face like fire.  
  
'What did you say?' Mila snapped, pointed nose aimed directly at Yuuri. Phichit felt his stomach drop. Drunk Yuuri was infinitely more confident and therefore far more likely to get himself into trouble than Sober Yuuri. This was definitely looking like a one-way ticket to trouble.  
  
'Nothing,' Yuuri shrugged and for one, blissful moment, Phichit thought that might be it. But- 'Just I'm tired of you, you, _Russian_ skaters. Always thinking you know everything. 'Cause you  _don't._ It's annoying.'  
  
Shit.  
  
Mila seemed stunned for a moment, but it didn't take her long to gather herself. Mila pointed an elegant, manicured finger and poked Yuuri straight in the chest with it. Yuuri swayed under the movement and Phichit quickly moved to try and get between them, but Mila held him off with her other hand.  
  
'And who are you anyway?' Mila said, giving Yuuri and glance over. 'You're not a skater.'  
  
'He's no one! Just my friend-' Phichit tried for damage control, knowing in the morning that Yuuri was going to be _most_ unhappy that he was attempting to take on the Russian skating team in a student house. Almost as unhappy as he was earlier when a member of said team apparently dumped him.  
  
(Was it being dumped when you were an escort? Or was it being fired? Phichit shook his head, confused and unsure what entirely was happening. He'd definitely had too much to drink to deal with this situation).  
  
' _Katsuki Yuuri~,_ ' Yuuri said, accent quite strong suddenly and Phichit groaned, knowing this was bad. Yuuri had deliberately avoided using his name, even not correcting Leo earlier in the evening when he called Yuuri _Eros_ while doing shots.  
  
'Well, _Cutesy_ ,' Mila said, mouth curling into a teasing smile, Phichit not sure if she was using a petname or her accent just changed Yuuri's name that much. He stared between them as Yuuri tried to stand up straighter, though it was obvious to anyone that he couldn't seem to focus on Mila properly. 'You're picking a fight with the wrong _babushka!_ What's your problem with me and my team?'  
  
'He's not picking fights!' Phichit said, waving his hands manically. 'Are you, Yuuri?'  
  
'Why are you even here? Don't you have a flight in the morning?' Yuuri said to Mila like Phichit had said nothing. Yuuri waved his mug around, Garfield smiling through it. 'If they can even get your egos off the ground.'  
  
Phichit deserved this, really. He had no one to blame but himself.

(Though he would be lying if he said he wasn't blaming Victor Nikiforov as well).

Mila blinked, blue eyes suddenly curious as she seemed to be taking Yuuri in properly for the first time since the start of their exchange. She leaned back a bit, looking between Yuuri and Phichit slowly. Then, her face broke a little from it's stern frown. She glanced back towards Phichit, something a bit softer across her striking features.  
  
'He knows Victor, doesn't he?' she said, addressing Phichit. Phichit gaped, helplessly as Yuuri grumbled something under his breath. Mila sighed, roping an arm around Yuuri's shoulders. 'C'mon. Let's get another drink and why don't you tell me all about it. Make up for your friend ruining my dress.'  
  
Phichit was about to cry out a protest while Yuuri teetered under the new weight of Mila. He looked drunkenly suspicious, but didn't say anything as Mila guided Yuuri back into the kitchen. Phichit was about to follow them, when suddenly someone whooped from behind him in the living room. Phichit barely had the chance to turn around before he was catching a very excited looking Guang-Hong who had seemingly launched himself at Phichit from freaking nowhere.  
  
'Phichit! Did you _see_ what Leo and I just did?' he laughed, cheeks very red and brown eyes glowing. A sheepish looking Leo came up from the living room, running a hand through his disheveled long hair.  
  
Phichit wasn't sure how long he had been distracted by Leo and Guang-Hong, but every time he tried to disentangle himself from Guang-Hong, (who was giving Yuuri a run for his money in being the most drunk at this party), he found himself roped back into the play-by-play they were giving of the apparently very impressive tango they had managed. Phichit sincerely doubted it was as true a tango as they made it out to be, seeing as neither of them claimed to study dance like Yuuri had, but mostly Phichit was just disappointed he had missed the opportunity to take photos for Instagram. The only ones he'd managed so far was a quick selfie and that story of Yuuri-  
  
_Shit, Yuuri!_

Any buzz Phichit had managed throughout the night now truly spent, Phichit turned to face the kitchen to find Yuuri and Mila. But Yuuri was gone. Because of course he was.

Grumbling about how Yuuri was definitely the worst friend ever and that where ever Victor Nikiforov was, Phichit hoped it was terrible and he was suffering, Phichit started to look around him for Yuuri. The asshole probably didn't even know what he’d done to Yuuri. Again. Phichit was vividly reminded of how devastated Yuuri had been after his own Grand Prix all those years ago. Back when this whole mess apparently started.  
  
How many times was Victor Nikiforov going to swing into Yuuri’s life just to mess him around?

(Phichit knew rationally that a big part of the blame was on Yuuri, too. He should've known better than to get involved with his celebrity crush/lost love. But it was much easier and much more satisfying to blame the guy Phichit didn't live with).  
  
Suddenly there was a hand slapping his arm.  
  
'Phichit!' Guang-Hong squeaked, still slapping Phichit erractically. Phichit groaned, ignoring Guang-Hong mostly to stand on his tip-toes and see if he could spot Yuuri, or even Mila Babicheva over the heads of the other guests. No luck. 'Phichit, it's Victor!'  
  
'Who?' Phichit asked, only half-listening. How far could Yuuri have gotten? A drunk Katsuki Yuuri was a _dangerous_ thing to leave unsupervised. Maybe Mila had killed him? _Wait,_ Phichit thought. _Did Guang-Hong say-?_ Phichit turned on the spot, seeing the very last person he expected.  
  
Victor Nikiforov was standing in the student living room, looking incredibly lost. He stood out terribly as well, strikingly beautiful and all style in his long, tan coat and white shirt. He was looking around the room, which was falling silent very quickly as the other guests spotted the party-crasher. Phichit scrambled, shoving both Guang-Hong and Leo out of the way as he bolted towards Victor, who was turning back into the hall.  
  
Phichit weaved his way through the other guests, trying to keep Victor's very defining silver head in his line of vision. This was bad. This was really bad. Phichit knew that Sober Yuuri, who despite claiming to be a professional escort, was still an simmering pot of awkward just waiting to explode. And now the man he'd been in love with for like a decade and had a freaking- god, Phichit didn't even know what to call it. But whatever was happening between Yuuri and Victor was twisted and Yuuri really did _not_ need Victor showing up like this. Drunk Yuuri hadn't a hope of getting out this alive. Not without Phichit's help.  
  
'Phichit!' Victor cried when he saw Phichit come into the hall. He waved a hand, smiling broadly. Damn, he really was hot. Even Phichit would admit it. Phichit ran up to Victor, putting both hands on his chest and giving him a gentle shove. 'I was hoping-'  
  
'You can't be here!' Phichit said, interrupting whatever Victor was about to say next. Victor narowed his perfectly plucked eyebrows, blue eyes narrowing.  
  
'What do you mean?' Victor said, accent more obvious than Phichit remembered it being.

Then Victor's eyes moved from Phichit's face, scanning over his shoulder behind him. Phichit turned, seeing Yuuri standing down at the other end of the hall just in front of the door to the back porch. He was frozen, people parting like the Red Sea so Yuuri and Victor could look at each other from either end of the hall. Yuuri's eyes were wide behind his glasses, mouth opening slowly as he focused on Victor and Phichit.  
  
'Eros,' Victor breathed and Phichit braced for impact.  
  
Yuuri dropped the mug, Garfield's face shattering across the wooden floor.

* * *

_  
Two hours earlier..._

* * *

 

JJ was sitting in the airport lounge, glass of soda in front of him and his father dozing idly on the other side of the couch. His flight back to Montreal wasn't for another hour, but JJ was itching to get home. Especially to see Isabella. The entire weekend had been so bizarre, taking a turn he really, really just wanted to forget about. Alain snored quietly, shifting a little next to JJ. His father had been questioning him since they'd arrived at the rink, JJ feeling more anxious than normal. He'd been reluctantly offered a mirtazapine, but JJ had declined.  
  
He didn't need it. He'd come in silver, it wasn't a bad position to be in. Not gold, but there was still Skate Canada before the Grand Prix. JJ couldn't wait to get home. Home to where none of this crazy, American shit happened. Where strange women showed up, blackmailing and-  
  
JJ flinched inwards to himself. Okay. Deep breaths, no need to panic. Not here. Not now.  
  
But the anxiety pooled, liquid and cold inside him anyway. It was suffocating, filling JJ up. Casting a quick glance over to Alain, JJ got up from the couch and made his way through the lounge to the restroom. Once inside, JJ checked the stalls to see he was alone before going up to the sink, splashing cold water over face. No one could see him like this. He was Jean-Jacques Leroy, _King of the Ice!_ He was not going to be seen as _weak._  
  
Deep breaths. One, two, three. There was no point panicking now. Soon, he'd be back in Montreal and he could put the whole thing behind him. In the pocket of his jeans, the card for Meredith Thronton sat like a stone. It was almost like he could feel the edges of it, digging in. Wiping a hand over his face, JJ reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, looking for a distraction.  
  
Instead, what he found was he Twitter blowing up. Confused, JJ opened the app and checked the notifications. A gossip-forum had updated with an article about Skate America and everyone was retweeting it and tagging JJ. JJ opened the article, scanning through it quickly. Mostly it was just a breakdown of the latest gossip, but one paragraph in particular caught JJ's eye, pushing all thoughts of Thorton and her games from his mind.  
  
***  
_Insider sources say that during the cool-down of their performances, Leroy attempted to take on the Prince himself by attacking_ _Yuri Plisetsky_ _, Nikiforov's teammate and protégé. (Plisetsky is gaining quite the reputation himself, first as_ _Russia's Fairy_ _but his fiery temper is gaining him some new critics and fast!_ _Click link for more info!)_ _According to these sources, Leroy was fast put in his place.  
  
“Victor really gave him a talking to, you know? He's very protective of little Yuri. Like a brother,” our source says. Apparently, Leroy was so embarrassed by Nikiforov's takedown that he fled the rink!  
  
If Victor Nikiforov is Prince of the Ice, then I guess that leaves Jean-Jacques Leroy as Jester of the Court!  
_ ***  
  
Utterly livid, JJ put the phone down on the counter with a sharp smack. Who did they think they were? To talk about him like that? He was _the_ Jean-Jacques Leroy! That was so typical of Nikiforov. He had probably tipped the press off himself, just to get the publicity. Nikiforov was always in the public eye and rarely for anything productive. While JJ was off really expanding himself as an athlete _and_ an artist, Nikiforov was usually just snapped alongside some Italian models.  
  
_Jester?!_ How dare they? Any leftover panic JJ felt fled from him in the wake of fresh anger, offence and upset twisting together.  
  
Angrily, JJ brought the article up again, scrolling furiously down through it to reach the comments, just so he could see his fans. Nobody inspired JJ like his fans did and he just knew they would already be ahead of him, tearing strips of whoever wrote this for even suggesting that JJ was anything less than courteous during that discussion in the cool-down room. Besides, it wasn't like anything JJ had said about Plisetsky wasn't true!  
  
Before he reached the end, JJ found himself caught by another part of the so-called article. This time it was Nikiforov's name that caught his attention, but it was the fact that it was combined with one he didn't recognise straight away that stood out.  
  
***  
_**Phichit Chulanont: Thailand's Secret Weapon and New Bromance?**_ _  
Of all the strange happenings at Skate America this season, perhaps one of the oddest was the combination of Victor Nikiforov and_ _Phichit Chulanont_ _, the Thai representative for this season who's homerink is actually based in Detroit. Not much is known of Chulanont, this being his first GPF season, (and we wish him luck and congratulate him on his_ _qualification_ _!), but he's got quite the substantial_ _Instagram_ _and_ _Twitter_ _following.  
  
And it seems Victor Nikiforov is another member of the Chulanont fanclub, as this Skate America the pair were spotted chatting happily before the free-skate. According to some inside sources, the newfound friends had spent the evening together with some other skaters and friends. Clearly Nikiforov saw quite the spark in Chulanont, because as of this evening Nikiforov has followed Chulanont on both Insta and Twitter! Wow! Friendship forged in fire, maybe? Who knows what __party boy Nikiforov_ _got Chulanont caught up in the night before!  
_ ***

Phichit Chulanont? The dark boy with the programs to _The King and the Skater._ JJ remembered him well. His step sequences had been impressive, quite different from the usual round up of counters and combinations that dominated most of the season. He seemed like quite the low-level skater at the moment, it wasn't like Nikiforov to take an interest in such a person.  
  
Curiosity won out, JJ typing into the search bar for _Phichit Chulanont._ Chulanont's Twitter was mostly a bombardment of links to his Instagram, which was little pushy for JJ's taste. He scrolled idly, not entirely sure why Victor Nikiforov would show interest in this person of all the people at Skate America. But JJ checked had Chulanont's followers, and _v-nikiforov_ was indeed there. Nikiforov only followed twenty or so people, less than half being none-Russians.  
  
This was... weird. Right?  
  
JJ switched over to Nikiforov's profile. Alright, JJ would admit it. He followed Nikiforov on social media- so what? It was good to get to know your competition! Besides, Nikiforov was so old now he barely knew how to use it properly anyway. (JJ resolutely did not care that Nikiforov did not follow him back). He didn't have to scroll for long, spotting that Nikiforov had liked a tweet of Chulanont's. Clicking through, it turned out to be an Instagram post.  
  
JJ nearly dropped his phone.  
  
No... No way, this could not be happening. Could it?  
  
The picture was an old selfie that Chulanont had shared, weeks ago, (God, had Nikiforov really stalked that far back?), but what mattered was who was in it. JJ knew that person. Though he was wearing glasses now and smiling, JJ recognised the escort he'd hired immediately. How could he not? The panic resurfaced, igniting inside JJ and coursing through him like electricity.  
  
This was the only post Nikiforov had liked. That must mean- he must _know_ Eros, too? Right? JJ couldn't think of any other reason. Nikiforov was gay, after all. Hiring a male escort made perfect sense for him and JJ sincerely doubted they just talked. Putting his phone down with a shaky hand, JJ took a deep breath, staring at his reflection in the mirror.  
  
Nikiforov was involved with this Eros person, too. And Chulanont as well. How many skaters were? How deep did this go? JJ tried to steady his breathing, reminding himself that he was Jean-Jacques Leroy and he could handle this. He could handle anything. Almost without thinking, JJ pulled Meredith Thorton's card out of his pocket. He stared at the embossed letters, considering.  
  
Thorton had claimed she wouldn't leave JJ alone until he gave her some information. Said that JJ had no idea what he had gotten himself into. Well, now JJ was starting to get a very clear idea. If Chulanont and Nikiforov wanted to get themselves roped into whatever the fuck this was then that was their problem, as far as JJ was concerned.  
  
Right now, all JJ could see was a potential out. A way to bargain his way to freedom. But something was stopping him.  
  
Passing the issue onto someone else didn't seem like a very fair thing to do. But going by the age of the post, Chulanont had known Eros for sometime. And if Victor Nikiforov was getting involved, too...  
  
Finally making a decision, JJ took his phone back up and copied the link. He composed a quick message and filled in the email on the card, sending it to Thorton before he could think anymore about it. The message simply read that if Thorton was looking for Eros, maybe she was looking in the wrong place in asking JJ.  
  
Turning his phone on silent, just so he wouldn't have to spend the remainder of the evening biting his nails with worry over what he'd done, JJ quickly made his way back out into the lounge. Alain was awake now, looking around the lounge and smiling as JJ approached. JJ tried to ignore the knot of worry that spun inside him, twisting like metal.  
  
'You okay there, bud?' Alain said, patting his son on the back as JJ sat down. JJ nodded silently, ignoring the way his father's thick brows creased together in concern.  
  
JJ slipped his phone through his fingers as they waited together, Alain commenting on the basketball that was playing on the overheard television. But JJ wasn't listening. He felt like his ears were ringing. All he wanted to do was get on the plane, get back to his own life and forget this whole mess. Get back to Isabella. Maybe even tell her everything, like he should've done in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to lucycamui who gave me twelves hours to post this. <3 And then she distracted me with her own update. xD Worth it! 
> 
> Okay so we have a lot of new readers these last two weeks, wow! Thank you all so much! I promise I'll reply to every one of your comments- I just wanted to finish editing this first.
> 
> To those who are new- I know it can be scary committing to a WIP, as we've all been burned before with abandoned fics. So if it helps you at all- this story is completely drafted. It is finished. I just re-read and edit each chapter before posting, and as I don't have a beta, it can take me some time. This story updates weekly though, each chapter usually within 7-8days of the last one, unless I'm severely delayed in my editing.
> 
> Which I was these last two weeks, because I thought I was hungover. Turned out I was actually sick and had to seriously deal with it. Because I'm a fucking idiot. BUT OH WELL.


	9. Blurring the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eros is retired.

Eros was there. Right in front of him. Victor froze, suddenly unsure what to do. Eros opened his mouth slowly, the mug he was holding slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor with a _crack_ that shattered it. People jumped around them, Phichit stepping even more between the pair of them by moving in front of Victor, his face turned down the hall towards Eros. Victor felt like his heart was suddenly three-times too big for his chest, it's beats threatening to burst out of him like birds from a cage.

Eros’ hands came up to his chest, curled fingers and bent wrists. His face was all open emotion. Beautiful, pink and pulling at Victor like the moon pulled at the tide.

Victor knew what to do.

He moved, taking one step forward and carefully pushing Phichit out of his way with the next, despite the protest. Victor walked down the short hall, focused on Eros the entire time. He looked smaller, for some reason. Shorter almost, in his jeans and soft jumper. The blue of it accented his glasses well, Victor finding his eye continuously drawn to them. In what felt like an age, Victor was finally standing before Eros, looking down at him from their few inches of difference.

Eros blinked up at him, brown eyes glazed and cheeks pink. His hair was almost wild, never any way Victor had seen it before. Feathery tufts, chopped edges. Clean of gel and style. Victor wanted to run his hands through it, feel every strand beneath his skin.

‘Why- why are you here?' Eros was whispering and it killed Victor to hear the suspicion that lurked in the quiet words.

Victor smiled as gently as he could manage, swallowing down the emotion he hadn’t expected to feel simmer inside him. Victor pulled the watch out of his pocket, holding it by a strap like one might dangle a fish. Eros' eyes moved to it, where he then squinted. Victor felt his heart squeeze at the sight. It was adorable. He was adorable.

'I came to return this,' he said, holding the watch in the space between them, waiting for Eros to take it. Which Eros did, very slowly and with a look of great concentration. His fingers brushed against Victor's as he did and it took everything in Victor not to chase after them, to link their hands together. To bring Eros' hand up to his lips.  
  
God, what _was_ this?

'Thank you,' Eros said softly and suddenly he was swaying. Victor stepped forward, pressing their bodies together and an arm coming down and around Eros' waist, holding him flush. Eros' already tinted face bloomed colour even more, eyes skittering away from Victor's gaze. He was so warm, Victor feeling impossibly light now they were touching.

Eros looked up at Victor, doe-eyed and lips shining. Victor licked his own before he could stop himself and his stomach did that electric little flip it had learned to do in the last few days when he saw Eros’ eyes flick down to catch the motion.

The feeling was intoxicating. Which was funny, really, as now that Victor looked at Eros properly, blinking away his initial reverie, he noticed that Eros was exceedingly drunk. Like weak-knee'd, teetering weight with the strong smell of alcohol as cologne _drunk._

Oh. This wasn't... Ideal.

'All good, _miliy?'_ Victor asked nervously, his other hand coming up to take Eros beneath the chin, tilting his head up.

‘I- I didn't think you wanted to see me again,’ Eros stammered, accent strange in his mouth as he slurred his words and his eyes mirrored. Victor felt like his heart was caught in a vice, throat tight. Everything twisting smaller, leaving no space left for the feeling that swelled inside of him.

‘How could you think that?’ he asked, shocked and ashamed he had ever given that impression. Eros shrugged his narrow shoulders, lips pouted. His small body swooned a little in Victor’s arms and Victor tightened his grip, holding them both steady. Eros slipped in beneath Victor’s chin like he was meant to be there, tucking down as he really wasn’t that much shorter. Not that it mattered. Victor would go up on his tip-toes if needs be.

_‘Oi, Vitya!’_

Victor looked over Eros’ shoulder to see Mila, _of all people,_ coming through the back door of the house right behind them. Her pink dress had a large, ugly red stain that resembled her vivid hair and someone’s overly large jacket thrown over her shoulders. She gave Victor a quick glance over, eyes hovering over where Victor had his hands splayed against Eros’ back. When she met his gaze again, she was all teasing grin.

‘Found your Cutesy have you?’

Victor hadn't the faintest idea what _cutesy_ was supposed to be mean, but he felt his neck heat up a little and his heart quicken. It was not panic- not exactly. But a definite nervousness was beginning to itch within him, a scrambling thought to gather Eros in his arms and flee. What Victor did, (and who with), was very much his own business and the thought of whatever he had with Eros colliding with his very real life set him on an edge.  
  
A very sharp, steep edge.

Mila, however, seemed to have no sympathy or indeed pity as she walked up to the pair of them, accusing pout aimed directly at Victor.

 _‘Byt’ ostorozhen,’_ she said, before turning to look at Eros with a terribly pitying smile. ‘ _Etot slishkom sladkiy dlya vas.’_

‘I like her,’ Eros announced, pointing a loose hand vaguely in Mila’s direction. Mila’s smile flipped onto the side of a little more kind.

‘I like you, too,’ Mila said, reaching over and ruffling Eros’ already messy hair.

But Victor hardly noticed, heart hammering. The first thing that had gone through Victor’s mind when he had envisioned this reunion was getting Eros alone, having a _private_ moment. Having Mila there, young smile aimed directly at Victor and eyes bright with smugness, gave Victor the impression that he had given up his privacy before he had even had the chance to protect it. Mila clapped her hands together, looking between both Victor and Eros with flushed cheeks.  
  
‘Why don’t you try in there?’ Mila said, tossing her head down the hall towards a door that stood at the end of the stairs facing the living room. ‘It’s Megan’s, she said it would be fine.’  
  
‘She did?’ Victor asked, not sure who Megan was or why she would be so generous. Mila shrugged her perfect shoulders, red hair bobbing.

‘I’m sure she will when I ask her,’ Mila said flippantly before she started waving a hand manically towards the room. ‘Now go, go! People are staring.’

People were indeed staring. Most notable of them being Phichit, who was still frozen where Victor had left him. Mila sauntered past Victor and Eros with the same swaying attitude she carried in the rink back in St Petersburg. She looped an arm around Phichit’s shoulders.

‘Come on! You still owe me a drink!’ she said happily, steering Phichit away though he didn't look at all happy about it. Victor would have to explain later.

For now, Victor took Eros’ hand and guided his unsteady body towards the bedroom down the hall, ignoring the whispers that followed them down.

Once inside, Eros sat himself down on the bed with a dramatic flop. The room was small, overly warm from the hissing radiator in the corner and the bed a mess of jumbled up coats and bags.

And dark. The only light was the orange glow from street lamps crawling through the cheap lace voile on the window. Victor could only just make Eros out, his glasses catching the dim light. He should probably look for the light switch, but there was something about having Eros all to himself in this dark, mostly quiet space. Something Victor wasn't sure he could name, but wasn't willing to let go of yet.

‘Vic-tor?’ Eros asked, Victor’s name upending with an extra syllable at the end as Victor heard Eros’ accent slur beneath the word. Victor swallowed, fondness warm inside him. ‘Are you still there?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Victor said hurriedly, moving from where he was standing from closing the bedroom door behind them and sitting down on the bed next to Eros. Eros looked at him, hands down by his sides. He looked young again. Victor sat, surprised as he realised that he still had no idea how old Eros was.

‘How did you get it?’’ Eros said, head tilting down and watching Victor from over his glasses. Victor didn't say anything for too long, neck growing warm when he realised he hadn't answered because he'd been busy trying to see the colour in Eros’ eyes.

‘Get what?’ Victor replied and Eros sighed loudly, almost impatiently. He held a hand up, showing Victor his watch.

 _‘Thish._ My watch,’ Eros said, words slurring.

‘Oh,’ Victor said, wondering if it would be appreciated if he reached out and held onto Eros somehow, as he seemed to be teetering slightly. ‘You forgot it. In my room.’

Eros hummed, looking at the watch now with his eyebrows furrowed in thought.

‘I always do that.’

Victor smiled. ‘What? Forget your watch?’

‘No. Sort of? Just things,’ Eros replied, sounding confused. ‘I leave things after me all the time.’  
  
‘Good thing you have me then,’ Victor teased lightly, smiling as Eros eyed him with a stern frown.  
  
‘I don’t have you,’ Eros said solemnly, before he bizarrely erupted into a fit of giggles. Victor opened his mouth, but found himself not at all sure what to say. Eros looked over at Victor, smile so open that it took Victor’s breath away. No one had ever looked at him like that. ‘Wish I did though. You know, I used to dream about meeting you all the time. _All the time.’_ _  
_ _  
_ The last sentence was a long, low whisper and at any other time, it would likely have engaged a very particular train of thought, but all of Victor’s attention was drawn to what exactly Eros had just to said to him.  
  
‘I…’ Victor stopped, swallowed his dry tongue and tried again. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’  
  
‘I always thought you’d like me when you met me,’ Eros continued, like Victor had said nothing. He shrugged his shoulders, lips pouting. ‘Didn’t work out that way.’  
  
Now Victor was completely confused.  
  
Did Eros think Victor didn’t like him? Did Eros… know _exactly_ who Victor was, this entire time? How much had Eros been keeping from him? Victor wasn’t sure which to ask first, wasn’t sure where to start. Just how drunk _was_ Eros anyway? Victor glanced over towards the door, half-considering seeking Phichit out as a backup. He was Eros’ friend, right?  
  
‘Do you like me?’ Eros asked, turning to face Victor again with his eyes catching the dim, orange light. Well, that solved which question Victor should sort out first.  
  
‘Of course I do,’ Victor said, leaning forward and finally reaching out for Eros. But Eros shifted out of his way, watching Victor’s hand suspiciously.  
  
‘No,’ he sighed sadly, looking Victor in the eye with a very stern but adorable frown on his face. ‘You don’t like me. You like Eros.’  
  
‘You are Eros,’ Victor said, letting his hand fall to the space between them on the bed. The tips of his fingers just grazed against Eros’ thigh, jeans rough.  
  
‘That’sh not- you’re so annoying in person, do you know that?’ Eros said, rubbing at his face under his glasses. He glared at Victor after and it was very hard to follow what exactly was happening, but all Victor knew for certain was Eros was interested in him. He had to be. The things he was saying suggested as such. Right? Unless Victor was misreading the situation.  
  
Victor had been doing that a lot lately, he felt.  
  
Victor licked his lips, thinking about what he wanted to say very carefully before he attempted a response; ‘You know who I am, don’t you?’  
  
Eros didn’t answer, but his cheeks turned very red, very fast. He puffed out a breath, blowing at some imaginary hair in his face. ‘Maybe. Yes. You’re Victor.’  
  
‘But you know more than that,’ Victor continued, feeling a little bolder. ‘You knew who I was the moment you saw me. That’s why you-’  
  
_Why you blushed. Why you looked so nervous. The reason I wanted to know you from that very first moment- because you already knew me..._ _  
_ _  
_ Victor couldn’t say any of that. Instead, he said; ‘You knew I was Victor Nikiforov. Your friend, his skating- you follow competitive skating, too. Don’t you?’  
  
Eros still said nothing, turning his face entirely from Victor now and staring out the bedroom window. Victor resisted the urge to reach over, to take Eros’ chin in his hand and pull him back so he could face Victor properly. But he didn’t, instead just inching his hand further across the bed, touching Eros’ thigh. He heard Eros’ small intake of breath.  
  
Victor remembered the way Eros moved on the ice. At the time, Victor had thought him a natural But now… Now, maybe not. Maybe it was Phichit who had taught him, maybe Eros had been skating longer than that. But he knew Victor. His excitement at having Victor skate for him the other night- how could Victor have been so blind?  
  
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Victor asked, but Eros suddenly turned, facing Victor with his eyes burning as the music outside the bedroom shifted into some old, 80’s ballad.  
  
‘Why should I?’ Eros snapped, eyes narrowing. ‘You’re the one who- you know, messed up all the boundaries!’  
  
Victor was shocked, but Eros kept going, shaking a hand between himself and Victor for drunken emphasis.  
  
‘You’re the one who got me all confushed!’ Eros said petulantly, now prodding Victor in the chest with an accusatory finger while nodding proudly. ‘Mila said you do that.’  
  
‘Mila?!’ Victor cried. ‘Mila’s a teenager! She doesn’t know anything.’  
  
‘I really, really liked you,’ Eros said quietly, hand turning less pointy and instead he pressed his palm flat against Victor’s chest. Victor could feel the heat of his skin over his shirt and his heart started to beat faster, like it could somehow tap it’s secrets out on Eros’ fingers. ‘I have your posters in my room and every-shing. Even that terrible one where you’re in that puffy shirt.’  
  
‘You what?’ Victor asked, stunned. Eros sighed, taking his hand away and Victor madly chased after it with his own. He caught Eros’ fingers, tightening his grip when Eros tried to pull free.  
  
‘My point-!’ Eros announced before Victor could say anything, like everything he had been saying so far made any kind of sense. (Which it most certainly hadn’t). ‘- is; I feel things.’  
  
Eros tugged his hand free, putting both of his on his knees primly. He tried to sit up straight, but the bed was too soft and he wobbled a little. Victor left his hand where Eros had abandoned it, hovering nervously in case Eros were to fall. Or in case Victor needed something to hold on to. Because this was all a bit- well, it was more than Victor had bargained for.  
  
But it was _amazing._  
  
Eros was a fan! That’s what he meant, right? It had to be! Victor grinned, unable to stop the excitement from bubbling over. This was something he could never have expected and there Eros went, surprising Victor yet again. Victor bounced a little in his seat, dying to ask Eros for more information. Did Eros skate? Would he skate for Victor again, properly this time? How long had he followed Victor’s career? How many posters did he have _exactly?_  
  
Victor had never wanted to know anything as much as he wanted to know the man in front of him.  
  
Slowly, through the dizzying haze of excitement, Eros’ words registered. Victor touched his chin, confused.  
  
‘You feel things?’ he repeated, unsure what that meant. Eros breathed in sharply through his nose, throwing Victor a crooked glare.  
  
‘Of course I do!’ he snapped. Then Eros squinted, looking Victor up and down very slowly. Victor tried not to move under the scrutiny, not following Eros’ motivation remotely. Just like he wasn’t entirely following this conversation either. Maybe Victor should’ve offered Eros a glass of water- ‘How did you even know I was here?’  
  
Ah. This could be tricky.  
  
Victor ran a hand through his hair, down the back of his neck where he rubbed, self-conscious.  
  
‘It’s sort of… not good,’ Victor said sheepishly, feeling his stomach drop as Eros’ eyes widened.  
  
‘Did you- did you follow me here?’ Eros asked, swaying a little too far back from Victor as he said it. Victor stretched out a hand, taking Eros’ arm and holding him steady lest he fall entirely off the bed. Eros’ dark eyes fell down to where Victor was holding him.

‘Eh.’ Victor bit his lip, guilty. ‘Not quite. Well, sort of.’

‘Oh my god,’ Eros said, looking up quickly and his face blooming further into shock as he wiggled his arm free from Victor’s grip. Victor panicked, reaching out wildly for Eros’ hand.

‘Not in a creepy way! I assure you!’

‘There's no _not creepy_ way!’ Eros snapped back, pulling his hand entirely out of Victor’s reach and looking more sober by the second. He narrowed his eyes, brown accusing. ‘Are you insane?’

‘No!’ Victor said, before he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pushing his fringe from his face. He thought of everything that had happened over the last few days, stomach clenching with nerves. Thought over what Eros had confessed to him. ‘Alright, maybe a little!’  
  
Eros’ nose bunched up and really, it was just unfair for him to look so adorable when he was obviously upset. But Victor managed kept his hands to himself, awkwardly rubbing them up and down his own thighs as Eros wiggled uncomfortably next to him. This really was not going the way Victor had imagined at all. His throat felt swollen almost, something he didn’t want to call fear welling up inside of him. When Eros still said nothing, Victor tried again.  
  
‘When I saw you on Instagram-’

‘What?’ Eros said sharply, interrupting Victor. He was staring with his brown eyes round and beautiful, so beautiful it almost distracted Victor entirely from his tone. ‘What Instagram?’

‘Your friend’s,’ Victor answered and Eros suddenly muttered something angrily that must've been in Japanese, as Victor didn't get a single word of it.

Victor reached out again, slowly so Eros could see him coming and stop him if he wanted to. Instead, Eros just watched Victor from the corner of his eye, obviously skeptical, as Victor gently brushed his fingers along the back of Eros’ hand.  
  
‘I needed to see you,’ Victor said softly, running his hands down Eros’ hand and lacing their fingers together. Listened as Eros’ breathing shuddered, watched as his drunken blush deepened. ‘Not just for the watch. But because I wanted to apologise.’  
  
‘Apologise,’ Eros repeated, barely above a whisper. Victor nodded, lifting Eros’ hand to his lips. He kissed Eros’ wrist as he tilted the hand gently.  
  
‘Yes,’ Victor said, lips brushing against Eros’ pulse point. ‘I wanted to say I’m sorry for upsetting you today. Please know, it was not my intention.’  
  
Eros blinked at him, round cheeks twitching as he bit his lip. He watched as Eros swallowed slowly, tried to control his own breathing as Eros began to hold his hand back. The pressure was like when you stepped out onto the ice- a small, gliding step forward into something potentially dangerous. Victor wanted to step right into what Eros was offering.  
  
‘And,’ Victor said, using his other hand to rub up and down Eros’ arm. ‘Just to see you. I needed to, just once more before I left.’  
  
‘How do you do that?’ Eros asked, eyes fixed on where Victor was still holding Eros’ hand to his mouth. ‘Say such things. You- you shouldn’t be allowed to say such things.’  
  
Victor smiled, knowing he was taking a small advantage but he was unable to resist the temptation as he moved Eros’ hand down, moving forward to press his lips lightly against Eros’ pink ones. Victor knew this probably wasn’t allowed. He hadn’t paid for it, Eros hadn’t offered it- but Victor couldn’t let this go on worried he’d never get the chance to kiss Eros again.  
  
Suddenly, Eros was kissing him back, hands undoing themselves and instead gripping Victor by the neck. Eros fell down onto the bed, dragging Victor with him all the way down as Eros forced his tongue into Victor’s mouth. Victor groaned at the intrusion, hands finding their way to Eros’ waist and pulling Eros across the mess of coats so they were pressed up against each other.

  
Eros kissed Victor desperately, a needy noise in the back of his throat. Victor let him, let Eros suck on his tongue and tug at his lips. Every wet slide of Eros’ lips against Victor had a heat coiling deep inside of Victor, tighter and tighter until he was whimpering into Eros’ mouth.  
  
_‘Vicchan,’_ Eros moaned and Victor really hoped that was his name, otherwise he might lose his mind entirely. Eros kissed Victor hard again, lips a firm press and he tightened his grip on Victor’s neck. His body grinded up towards Victor, muscle strength and heat. Victor tugged at Eros’ waist, wanting him even closer. Eros moved up to Victor’s ear, his voice all hot, damp breath; ‘Take me home.’  
  
Victor stopped kissing Eros, pulled back a little to try and read his expression. That was definitely crossing a boundary. A pretty big boundary.  
  
‘Are you- _mmph!’_  
  
Eros kissed him again, deep and filthy and Victor knew he was lost.

 

* * *

 

An alarm starting going off and Yuuri didn’t want to die this time like he usually did in the morning. Because this time, he was already fucking dead.  
  
Yuuri whined in pain as he became more aware of his body, particularly the sharp knot of nausea in his stomach and disgustingly dry mouth. God, what had he drank last night? Thinking back, Yuuri realised, (with the same heavy regret he always did when this happened), that he couldn’t remember most of the evening. Yuuri groaned again, turning his head into his pillow and cursing in Japanese about Phichit. He _promised._ _  
_ _  
_ It was still dark outside, but Yuuri for some stupid reason had left his bedside lamp on and now he was suffering for it.  
  
_That’s it,_ Yuuri thought miserably as he scrambled to pull the blanket further up the bed around himself instead of making the effort to try and turn the lamp off. _I’m never going with one of Phichit’s ideas again. Phichit’s ideas are the worst._ _  
_  
However, Yuuri’s attempt at further secluding himself in his own blanket was interrupted by the feeling of resistance as the fabric caught in something behind him. Or rather, someone…  
  
At that moment, whoever was behind him turned off the alarm, shifting the bed as they did so.  
  
Yuuri sat up instantly, heart pounding and desperately clinging to the blanket on the way up. His already thundering heart exploded in his chest, stomach clenching so tightly it was painful as he found the terribly familiar silver head of Victor Nikiforov on the pillow next to him. Even without his glasses, Yuuri would recognise that mess of metallic anywhere.  
  
Oh… _god!_  
  
Stammering and frozen, Yuuri felt his body begin to break out in a cold sweat. Panic erupted inside him like a beast woken from a slumber, teeth and claws under Yuuri’s skin that suddenly felt too small for him. The pressure pounded inside him like a second heart and Yuuri could hear himself starting to pant with the anxiety.  
  
Why was Victor here? Yuuri didn’t remember, couldn’t remember. Yuuri closed his eyes, forced himself to try and keep calm, but his heart was racing. Breath shaking, Yuuri put a hand to his other arm, clenching his fingers tight against the skin to try and ground himself. Just like he used to when he was back in college.  
  
Gasping when the pain got too much, Yuuri released himself and opened his eyes to look down at Victor, who was beginning to rouse properly now, one arm outstretched to his large, shiny phone by the other pillow as he rolled over from lying on his stomach.  
  
_Oh no, no, no,_ Yuuri thought manically as Victor stretched out on his back, blanket coming down to reveal that he was shirtless. Yuuri gasped, throwing the blanket up to look at himself and immediately clamping it back down when he realised he was entirely and shamelessly naked.  
  
Oh, no, no, no.  
  
‘Mm, morning,’ Victor said and god, it was not fair for his voice to sound like that. His accent giving the _r_ edges that travelled down Yuuri’s spine like teeth. Yuuri bit his lip, suddenly painfully aware of his morning erection that was very quickly coming to attention. He wrapped his half of the blanket even more tightly around himself.  
  
When Yuuri said nothing, Victor opened his eyes and looked at Yuuri up from his pillow. Yuuri squeaked, unsure what to do. Victor looked at him for a moment, before his sharp blue eyes narrowed in concern. Yuuri made another high-pitched noise that only seemed to trigger an embarrassing blush. He could feel the heat of it go all the way down his neck. He clung onto the blanket like a shield.  
  
‘Everything alright?’ Victor asked, sounding so sweet and Yuuri felt his heart break with it. How could Victor just _be_ like that? So awfully real, knowing full well that Yuuri couldn’t have him. Definitely not now anyway.  
  
Yuuri had done more than break a rule. He’d pretty much burnt the entire handbook and apparently slept with Victor Nikiforov in it’s mortal remains. There was no way he could ever see Victor again after this. He’d have to block his number, speak to Chris- oh, how was Yuuri ever supposed to watch Victor’s skate again without feeling this crushing sense of shame and disappointment?  
  
Yuuri had been so _stupid._  
  
_‘Oi, oi,’_ Victor cooed softly, sitting up and reaching out to take Yuuri’s chin. Yuuri couldn’t control the whimper that escaped him as he did it, loving and already grieving the way Victor ran his thumb just beneath Yuuri’s bottom lip. ‘You don’t look well, though I suppose that’s to be expected-’  
  
‘Did we-?’ Yuuri interrupted, voice hoarse and stuttering. Victor paused, waiting for Yuuri to continue. Yuuri tried to calm himself down, tried to will the warm blush he knew he was sporting away. ‘Did we _do_ anything?’  
  
Yuuri already knew the answer. _Of course they did._ Yuuri was lying, naked, in his own bed with Victor Nikiforov who was apparently naked as well. And they had a history. And oh god, this was Yuuri’s _flat!_ There was no way Victor wouldn’t have realised that Yuuri really lived here. Yuuri threw a scattered glance over the room. The bare dresser against the back wall by the full length mirror, the imposing black doors of the incorporated wardrobe. The sheer death-trap collection of boxes that surrounded the bed like a fort.  
  
Yuuri tried to concentrate on it. Tried to count the boxes, tried to remember the order his clothes were hanging in within the wardrobe. Anything to try and distract himself from the awful reality of his stupid mistake.  
  
Victor chuckled and the sound was so unexpected, Yuuri jumped. Victor made a soft _oh_ noise as Yuuri did so, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb on Yuuri’s chin. He smiled, right corner of his gorgeous lips crooking up like the end of a fish hook. And Yuuri was caught.  
  
‘No,’ Victor said and the relief Yuuri felt threatened to drown him. ‘Though not for your lack of trying, I assure you.’  
  
Memories, broken and blurred slowly resurfaced. The party. Victor was there- why had Victor been there? Yuuri shook his head, now aware of how heavy it felt and how it was throbbing, just above his left eye. It hurt. But then Yuuri remembered vaguely kissing Victor on a bed, of pushing him through a door and demanding he take his shirt off.  
  
_‘Kuso-,’_ Yuuri cursed, dropping his head into his hands. Victor laughed again. ‘I’m so sorry.’  
  
Victor laughed again. Light, breathy and beautiful.  
  
‘Don’t be. You’re an adorable drunk, _miliy,’_ Victor said and Yuuri groaned, possibly cursing again.  
  
Yuuri swallowed and tried to look up at Victor. Tried to apologise again, for dragging Victor home with him. For being so forward and ruining any semblance of fantasy Yuuri had created professionally. Yuuri wanted to apologise for everything. Wanted to ask how they had even ended up back together… But then, his jaw felt tight. Tingling, heated tight and his mouth suddenly salivated.  
  
_Oh god,_ Yuuri thought before he swept the blanket up and off the bed, then around himself and he bolted straight for the en-suite. Yuuri barely registered that Victor, true to his word, was wearing briefs under the blanket before Yuuri made the short distance, falling to his knees and vomiting into the toilet in the dark.  
  
When Yuuri finally felt strong enough to stand and make his way back to the bed after brushing his teeth, he discovered Victor was missing from the room. Though what appeared to be his shirt and coat were still on the floor.  
  
He should’ve been relieved. Maybe it was all a very, very bad dream? Maybe they were his clothes. Not that sleeping with Victor Nikiforov was bad, as Yuuri knew quite intimately that it wasn’t. But sleeping with Victor Nikiforov, catastrophically drunk after already accepting money off him for sex, just because that after a measly three days Yuuri was going to _miss_ him. Like he had any right to. It was a whole new level of messed up. Even for Yuuri.  
  
(And according to Phichit, that was a low bar).  
  
Yuuri threw himself back down onto his bed, wincing immediately as his body bounced and stomach clenched. Wine. There had to have been wine, or something like it at that party. Wine always made Yuuri so sick. Curling the blanket around himself like swaddling, Yuuri was almost back to sleep when Victor appeared again, sitting his slender body down onto the bed. He was dressed in his trousers now, but his hair was ruffled and Yuuri wanted to brush it out with his fingertips.

He tightened his grip on the blanket instead.

‘Here,’ Victor said, encouraging Yuuri to sit up. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I got you a glass of water.’  
  
Yuuri didn’t mind. Not at all. Victor could search through any of the boxes in the kitchen. He could’ve _broken_ the glasses he found in them and Yuuri would probably have forgiven him. Yuuri glanced down to the end of the bed where a particular box lurked- one that contained carefully rolled and capped posters. He could feel himself blush again, though hopefully he could pass it off as part of the hangover.  
  
‘So,’ Yuuri started after he took a tentative sip of the water. He looked at Victor’s face, cast into strong shadows by the bedside lamp. He looked sharp in places. A jagged, but beautiful jigsaw piece that did not find into Yuuri’s soft, dark world. Yuuri wished he had his glasses, wished he could see exactly what Victor’s face looked like. ‘If we didn’t- ah, I just mean, why are you here?’  
  
‘You asked me to take you home. Then you asked me to sleep with you-’ Yuuri groaned, embarrassed. ‘-We reached a compromise,’ Victor replied, smiling fondly and Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t fair for Victor to look at him like that, not when Yuuri knew he’d have to say goodbye once Victor left for his-  
  
‘Your flight!’ Yuuri cried, leaning across the bed to try and get his phone from the bedside table. 4:27AM. When Yuuri turned back to Victor, Victor was staring at Yuuri’s chest, no, lower. His azure eyes were fixed on Yuuri’s waist where the blanket had dropped low. Yuuri’s cock twitched as Victor licked his lips, but Yuuri just crossed his legs beneath the blanket.  
  
‘Yes, I know,’ Victor said at last, slowly dragging his eyes away from Yuuri’s skin. Victor lickef his lips again. ‘I’ll have to leave at about five.’

Yuuri’s heart twisted, any semblance of arousal vanishing as Victor reminded him just how close his leaving was. Yuuri wasn't sure how to say it, wasn't sure how to ask for he wanted. If he was even allowed ask.

‘I…’

‘Do you really not remember last night?’ Victor asked, interrupting Yuuri. Yuuri looked at Victor’s silver hair, his high cheek bones. He remembered what it felt like to have Victor kiss him. Slowly, horrified to see that tears were starting to build up in the corners of his eyes, Yuuri shook his head, breaking Victor’s gaze.

Victor sighed. He sounded defeated.  But then his hand was on Yuuri’s, large palm white and warm over Yuuri’s fingers. Yuuri looked at him, saw how Victor was staring down at where they were touching.

‘I know that for all intents and purposes, you still don't know me,’ Victor said, very slowly. His English was stilted, awkward and accented in his mouth but Yuuri loved it. Victor looked up to Yuuri’s face, eyes searching. For what, Yuuri couldn't even begin to fathom. ‘Not truly. But I was hoping, if it would be alright, and I understand if it isn't, but… I’d like to stay here. With you. Just a little bit longer.’

_No. You're a client. You hired me for sex and despite knowing your exact height and shoe size after years of admiration, I still don't actually know that much about as person. It's grossly inappropriate for you to ask, the power imbalance too big for me to possibly say no, even if I wanted to..._

Except Yuuri did want to. He did know things. He knew now that when Victor was surprised, he'd touch his lips with one finger. He knew that Victor liked to hold Yuuri’s arms above his head and bite a signature into Yuuri’s skin. He knew that when Victor concentrated on the ice, _really_ concentrated, he would poke his tongue out of the corner of his mouth.

Yuuri knew all these things now. And it still wasn't enough.

After everything that happened, would it really be so bad as to deny this? What damage would there be, really?

‘Stay,’ Yuuri whispered and Victor took a sharp breath. Yuuri turned his hand over, holding Victor’s hand in earnest now. ‘Please, stay.’  
  
With me.

Victor pushed forward, lying down on the bed and next to Yuuri. He helped Yuuri turn in his mess of blankets, With Victor’s big, comforting weight on his back, Yuuri almost felt better. His stomach was soothed by Victor’s light rubbing over the blanket, heavy head tickled by the ear by Victor’s hot breath as Victor put a hand under Yuuri’s pillow, fully encasing him in Victor’s embrace.  
  
Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure when Victor started talking, but once he did Yuuri found himself unable to resist the deep rumbling of his voice. Half-asleep, maybe even still drunk depending on how long ago they actually got home, Yuuri let himself listen to the things Victor was telling him. Victor was talking about St. Petersburg. About the cold wind there and the bakery five minutes from his apartment. Yuuri pictured Victor’s apartment in his mind- white, modern and empty. Like it had been when a magazine had done a spread on it, the article probably buried in one of the boxes that hid the realities of Yuuri’s life.  
  
‘There’s gulls back in my home, too,’ Yuuri said sleepily in response to Victor talking about the seagulls back in St. Petersburg. Victor made a small humming noise, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s bare shoulder.  
  
‘Where’s home?’ Victor asked quietly, lips against Yuuri’s skin. ‘It’s not Tokyo, like you said. Is it?’  
  
Yuuri thought back, trying to remember if that was where he’d told Victor he was from or if Victor was just picking the only Japanese place he knew. He found he couldn’t remember, but something in his chest pulled taut. Like metal bending, towards a magnetic pull. He gave into it, letting himself relax in Victor’s arms as he realised how tense he’d suddenly become. Victor’s bare arms were wrapped around him, all warm skin and fine hairs. Yuuri loved Victor’s arms.  
  
‘Kyushu,’ Yuuri admitted softly, Victor’s rubbing of his stomach stilling and his lips lifting from Yuuri’s shoulder as he tried to look at Yuuri. Though Yuuri had his back to him, Yuuri could just make out Victor’s shadow across the wall from where the lamp cast it. Unreal, shifting shapes. ‘It’s in the south. My town is by the ocean.’  
  
‘That was true,’ Victor breathed, wonderment evident in his voice and Yuuri blushed from hearing it. ‘And Phichit. You live with him.’  
  
There really was no denying that now, so Yuuri nodded, guilt churning inside of his already torn up stomach when he thought of how he was going to explain this to Phichit.  
  
‘Is that how you know about skating?’ Victor asked and there was something off about his voice. He sounded too- coy, maybe. Or maybe even a little sarcastic. Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure, shifting in Victor’s arms and turning his face more into the pillow so Victor couldn’t see how red he was.  
  
‘Yes,’ Yuuri lied, feeling Victor’s chest move behind him. Victor made another _hmm_ noise, kissing Yuuri’s shoulder again. Slowly, Victor made his way up Yuuri’s neck, light and pressing kisses that were trailing goosebumps like brail along Yuuri’s skin.  
  
Before either of them could say anymore, Victor’s phone rang from the bedside table. Victor disengaged himself with a huff, answering the phone with rapid Russian. Yuuri  looked over his shoulder, intrigued at hearing the language so fast and easy in Victor’s mouth. It sounded right, in a way English didn’t quite despite Yuuri admiring Victor’s accent so. Yuuri wondered if Japanese sounded that good. Victor sighed, muttering something to whomever was on the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose as he did so. Then, rather suddenly, Victor said something and hung up abruptly.

Yuuri opened his mouth to say something, but he didn’t get the chance as Victor went right back to where he was, a little roughly and Yuuri bit back a whine as his stomach twisted painfully. Victor kissed his neck in sympathy, one hand slipping beneath Yuuri’s neck to pillow his head and the other coming down around Yuuri’s hips.

'I have you now, I'm afraid, _miliy_ ,’ Victor said, the smile so obvious in his voice that Yuuri’s heart fluttered.

'You call me that a lot,' Yuuri said, smiling as Victor buried his face into the crook of Yuuri's neck. He pressed a kiss to Yuuri there, lips so warm and Yuuri melted back into him. Victor's arm around his hips tightened, careful not to press on his stomach.

'What? _Miliy?'_ Victor said distractedly, making his way up Yuuri's neck to just behind his ear. Yuuri hummed in response, hand moving from the pillow to lace with Victor's fingers across his hips.

'Mmm, why so fond of that one? You always go back to it.' What Yuuri really wanted to know was what it meant, but he just couldn't find himself to ask out loud. His heart desperately wanted it to be something sweet. Something tender and soft, something Victor might use if they were actually lovers. The kind that just met, without anything inbetween.

Yuuri was sure that if it meant anything else, he'd break from it.

Victor kissed Yuuri behind his ear, mouth opening and teeth coming down on Yuuri's earlobe, feather-light. Yuuri made a soft noise of approval, so distracted he almost missed what Victor was saying when he started talking.

'I like the sound,' Victor said into Yuuri's ear, quiet like it was a secret. He moved his head back down to Yuuri's shoulder, hair tickling Yuuri all the way down. Yuuri could see the silver strands of it slip down over his skin out of the corner of his eye, blurry without glasses. Struck something possessive in him, something he didn't even know he had. Yuuri turned his face into the pillow, eyes closed and trying to hide the big grin he was getting.

Victor continued, voice a little teasing; 'I like words ending with an _'ii_ ' noise. Jacuzzi, pirozhki, hibachi...'

'Yuuri,' Yuuri suggested, still smiling.

Victor made a very soft noise from behind him, his chin lifting up from Yuuri's shoulder. Yuuri froze, realising too late what he'd done.

Victor pulled Yuuri onto his back, settling over him as the blanket came away slightly, half-naked body warm against Yuuri's. Yuuri looked away, his eyes fixed at some point on the wall. But Victor's hand came up, taking Yuuri's chin like he had done a hundred times before. He didn't push, but Yuuri followed the line of his fingers back, looking straight up into Victor's eyes. Blue and bright, like something precious. They were so close that Victor's fringe was tickling Yuuri's forehead, but he didn't dare move. A shaky breath slipped past his lips, betraying the panic that was beginning to mound inside him.

'Are you Yuuri?' Victor whispered, breath fanning across Yuuri's lips but his eyes never left Yuuri's. His accent rolled the _r_ in a way Yuuri had never heard before. Like it creased Yuuri’s name down the middle, like the fold of an envelope. Up this close, Yuuri didn't need his glasses. He thought he could see a hint of green in the blue that looked back at him.

Very, very slowly and never losing eye contact, Yuuri nodded.

Victor didn't smile, but something shifted across his face. Next, he was leaning forward, closing the bare inch between them. He kissed Yuuri slow and so, so deep Yuuri lost his breath with it. Yuuri lost track of the seconds, almost forgetting what had triggered the whole thing. Then Victor was pulling back, pressing one last chaste kiss against Yuuri's lips.

'I'm enchanted to meet you, Yuuri,' Victor said softly and Yuuri was frightened he had just fallen in love. Just the smallest bit.  
  
It was like having your heart set on fire, burning up until it was nothing but ashes and Yuuri felt like his very soul might float away.  
  
When Victor was dressed and leaving, Yuuri stole another kiss. He let Victor hold his head, hold his hand. He kissed Yuuri with romance and care, Yuuri’s heart melting like candle wax to the heat of it.  
  
Then Victor was gone, with a small piece of paper gripped in his hand. On the paper, in hastily scribbled English, was Yuuri's personal phone number.

* * *

  
_One Week Later...  
  
_

* * *

  
Phichit watched as Yuuri spun in lazy figure-of-eights across the ice’s surface. His eyes were downcast, watching the slow glide of his own skates as he moved fluidly across the ice, ballet-grace easy and back straight.

‘So,’ Phichit said, skating around Yuuri’s space in a wide lap. ‘Victor’s coming back.’

‘Yes,’ Yuuri replied calmly, betraying nothing. Phichit hummed absently, knowing that if he attempted this conversation off the ice Yuuri might be less confident. But Phichit didn't want that. He needed the cool-head Yuuri got that only skating seemed to give him. He wanted Yuuri to be able to hear what he was saying. Maybe take it in and really think about it, not stammer his way into a panic.

‘And you don't think that's weird? Two weeks before his next assignment,’ Phichit started, stretching an arm across in chest in a half-attempted warm up. They still had about half an hour before Celestino returned from his lunch, but Phichit felt compelled to do something in the face of Yuuri skating so well.

Yuuri flipped direction on his blade beautifully, the action catching Phichit’s attention. Phichit frowned at Yuuri’s skates. Really, it was such a _waste._

‘He's Victor Nikiforov, I’m sure he can get away with anything,’ Yuuri said, jersey shoulders shrugging as he did a quick twirl, arms suddenly outstretched in an arched formation. Perfect silhouette.

‘So it doesn't bother you?’

‘What doesn't bother me?’

The skates clipped along the ice’s surface, the noise of it loud as it was only Phichit and Yuuri in the rink. Celestino had managed to book it for themselves until four- a true blessing at this time of year for Phichit to get the empty rink to practice, especially before Skate Canada at the weekend. Well, almost empty. Like most things, Phichit shared it with Yuuri.

‘That he's flying across the world, just to see you,’ Phichit said, his own disbelief entering his voice unbidden. Yuuri threw a stern look over his shoulder as his legs swooped beneath him in a soft spread, eyes bright under the fluorescents.

‘That's not what he's doing.’

 _‘Pfft,’_ Phichit scoffed, halting his own skates with a careful turn. ‘Of course it is! What else is here for him? Detroit isn't exactly the most popular holiday destination.’

Yuuri sighed, coming to an elegant stop. His hips were canted, the shape of them lovely even in his black sweats. Phichit tried to stomp down the jealousy he always got when faced with Yuuri. Phichit was so narrow in places, places where Yuuri was curved. Yuuri could always pull such beautiful shapes.

In direct antithesis to his inviting silhouette, Yuuri brought his arms in close around his chest. Small, awkward bones. Phichit frowned at him preemptively.

‘To be honest,’ Yuuri said, eyes searching somewhere off to the side of the rink. He tapped his fingers nervously. ‘I'm not entirely sure why he's coming back. I- you know, when I drink…’

Yuuri trailed off, biting his lip.

‘I don't remember as much as I should. Maybe he told me, but I don't remember.’

‘You were pretty drunk,’ Phichit agreed, feeling small tendrils of nervousness curl around the words. ‘Are you sure you were okay to, I don't know, _do_ whatever you did?’

Yuuri met Phichit’s eyes looking utterly scandalised.

‘We didn't do anything!’ he squeaked, shoulders jumping. Amusement pooled with Phichit’s nerves, pulling a tense smile out of him. He still remembered that evening. He’d gotten in the taxi with both Victor and Yuuri, had to put up with Yuuri’s fawning which was _totally mortifying_ even to watch. How Victor wasn’t off signing a restraining order was beyond Phichit.

Still, it had been better than dealing with Yuuri's panic attack after Victor had left the next morning. Now that had been fun.

‘I didn't mean _that_ ,’ Phichit teased and Yuuri’s cheeks erupted red. He laughed, but even to himself it sounded shaky. ‘I just mean-’ Phichit paused, wondering how to phrase it. ‘- I guess I’m just hoping you know what you're doing.’

Yuuri met Phichit’s eye, squinting brown. Phichit patted his gloved hands together self-consciously, but he held firm. This was important.

‘I'm worried about you,’ Phichit said carefully, nervously swallowing as Yuuri narrowed his eyes. ‘I mean, is this really a sensible thing to do given your feelings for Victor?’

‘I don't have feelings for Victor!’ Yuuri snapped petulantly and Phichit rolled his eyes immediately.

‘Of course you do! You have, what? Twenty posters of him in your bedroom?’ Phichit said, exasperated at Yuuri’s stubbornness. ‘Are you really going to stand there and tell me, _me!,_ that sleeping with Victor is doing nothing to you here?’

Phichit pointed a finger at his chest, over his heart for emphasis.   
  
‘It's not- we’re not…’ Yuuri stammered, shrugging his head down. ‘He’s a _client_ , Phichit. Just like any other.’ Yuuri stiffened slightly on the ice, forcing himself to stand straighter and look Phichit in the eye. ‘I know what I’m doing.’  
  
‘A client you brought home. To our apartment,’ Phichit said, watching Yuuri turn red all the way up his ears as he pushed off into an elegant glide.  
  
‘It was a one-off,’ Yuuri replied, obviously trying for aloof and failing miserably. Phichit skated in front of him, halting Yuuri abruptly.  
  
‘A one-off,’ he repeated, giving Yuuri his best glare. ‘You brought him to our home _twice.’_  
  
‘I was drunk the second time,’ Yuuri said, holding his hands up like that in any way made it better. Phichit sighed, running a hand through his hair.  
  
‘God, just...’ Phichit sighed, exasperated.  
  
He couldn’t make Yuuri admit to anything, much as he wanted to. Yuuri could wax poetic about the boundaries and rules of his profession all he liked, but he couldn’t fool Phichit. Phichit knew exactly what was happening and he was worried. If it really was as black and white as Yuuri claimed it to be, (which Phichit sincerely doubted), then he wanted to be sure that Yuuri was certain of his own feelings, too. Phichit really  wasn’t sure he was comfortable with this.  
  
If Yuuri liked Victor so much, surely he didn’t need to accept the payment for it?  
  
When Yuuri had first told Phichit that Victor was going to be back in the States, only a mere week after he left them for Russia, Phichit had laughed because he genuinely thought Yuuri was joking. But Yuuri hadn’t been joking. And he also refused to listen to any reason. Because why, _why_ would Victor Nikiforov come to Detroit if not for Yuuri?  
  
But Yuuri’s walls were thick. Years of self-deprecation hardening into a tough callus that even Phichit struggled to penetrate. Yuuri liked to think he was being careful, but Phichit knew better. He could see the way Yuuri’s face lit up when his phone would chime with a particular message tone. And not his work phone either. He watched the way Yuuri tapped a pen against his Filofax, impatient as he read the calendar.  
  
Yuuri was not being careful with what was important. And it wasn’t money.  
  
Over the week, Yuuri and Phichit had talked. Phichit knew a lot more now. He knew names for people he’d probably never meet, knew systems he thought he’d never have to learn. But watching Yuuri interact with escorting, every day and in person like it was so natural, was grating on something Phichit couldn’t quite name.  
  
And Victor Nikiforov perfectly summed up that predicament. It was obvious to anyone that Victor was quite smitten with Yuuri. It had been all anyone at the party could talk about, asking Phichit about his friend and how they knew Victor. Phichit had tried to cover best he could, but even he didn’t have a suitable answer.  
  
Yuuri liked Victor, too. Surprising no one. Phichit just couldn’t understand why they didn’t just drop the entire paying-for-sex thing. Phichit couldn’t understand what kind of person Victor was to keep doing it. It made him nervous.  
  
‘You’re staring,’ Yuuri sad, pouting as he pushed into a soft slide out of Phichit’s path. Phichit made a groan of frustration.  
  
‘I’m just worried about you,’ Phichit repeated, turning in his skates to watch Yuuri turn in a sharp circle on his heel. Yuuri laughed lightly, the sound of it echoing slightly in the empty rink.  
  
‘You don’t have to,’ Yuuri said, giving Phichit a warm smile but Phichit struggled to return it. ‘What you should be doing is worrying about Skate Canada this weekend.’  
  
Phichit grumbled, knowing Yuuri was right. Yuuri was an adult and he could make his own decisions. If Phichit thought those decisions were incredibly stupid- well, there wasn’t much he could do about it.  
  
Admitting defeat, Phichit pushed off and gathered momentum, trying to focus on warming up before Celestino got back.

 

* * *

 

19:34PM _I’m looking forward to our appointment this weekend. <3_

20:47PM My apologies for getting back so late. I'm looking forward to seeing you, too.

20:48PM More than looking forward to it. Are you still sure you want the full weekend?

20:54PM _Am I still sure I want you all to myself? Yes._

20:56PM _I'm already thinking about it. Can't stop. I'm lying on my bed right now, remembering what it's like to touch you._

21:06PM We can't do this.

21:07PM _I'm sorry! I didn't mean to take advantage. I know we’re not on an appointment._

21:12PM No, I just mean we can't do this right now. I can't text much.

21:13PM _You’re_ _working?_

21:19PM Yes.

21:20PM _Are they better than me?_

22:03PM No one is better than you.

 

* * *

 

‘You're so forgetful. It's a miracle you can even tie up your skates,’ Yuri spat down the phone as Victor walked into the Westin Cadillac, nodding politely to the doorman as he walked in.

‘How fortunate for you that I remember at least that,’ Victor said, eager to check in and get on with his brief weekend excursion in Detroit. ‘Otherwise, who would you have to choreograph for you?’

‘I barely have you, asshole!’ Yuri snapped, English foul. Victor frowned at it, even though Yuri couldn't see him like maybe somehow Yuri could feel how disappointed Victor was from across the world. (Ha, not likely). ‘Only you would be so careless as to run off for a holiday before the Rosetelcom Cup.’

‘I have weekends off anyway, why not take advantage of my frequent flier miles?’

‘Isn't Detroit the murder capital of America or something? Why would you even want to go there?’

‘You don't have to sound quite so hopeful about my being murdered, Yuri,’ Victor teased, lowering the phone for a moment to speak with the receptionist. 'Nikiforov. I have a room reserved for the night.'

'Victor Nikiforov?' the receptionist, (Sarah, her shiny badge read), asked before typing elegantly into her computer. She smiled brightly, turning to face Victor again. 'Yes, sir. Your fiancé has actually already checked you in. He asked me to tell you to meet him upstairs.'

Victor nearly dropped the phone entirely. _His what?_

Yuuri. Victor felt like his heart had been breathing all by itself and now it wasn't. Winded, right through the core of his body by the very thought of Yuuri coming into the hotel and calling himself Victor's fiancé. His _fiancé_ of all things. Victor swallowed thickly, excitement brimming up inside of him like a pot bubbling over. The more he thought about it, as Sarah started to code the key card, the more Yuuri’s lie made sense. How else was he going to get inside without Victor? But _still._ The thought of being engaged to Yuuri- of having such a claim,  such legitimacy to their relationship. It stuck in Victor’s head like dull blades on the ice.  
  
It triggered Victor to think about other things, too. Considerably less romantic things.

Looking even more forward to getting upstairs now, Victor hastily took the key card from Sarah and made a bee-line for the lift, only remembering he was still supposed to be on the phone with Yuri once he heard the tinny Russian profanities.

 _'Ah-ah!_ That's terrible Russian, Yura!' Victor scolded once he brought the phone back up, awkwardly trying to summon the lift at the same time as he did so.

‘Whatever,’ Yuri said, sounding entirely unconcerned about his swearing and very grumpy. ‘If you want to sabotage yourself in that hell-hole, that's fine with me.’

‘Do I intimidate you that much?’ Victor said, knowing saying such a thing would only serve to wind Yuri up further. 'Hoping I'll be mugged in the street so you have a chance at the podium in the final?'

Yuri snarled, _snarled!,_ and the sound of it spurred Victor into laughter as he stepped into the lift.

'At the rate you're burning through cash no one will want to mug you,' Yuri grumbled down the other end of phone.

Victor shook his head, smiling away to himself as the floor counter went up. Truth was, Victor quite genuinely couldn't think of anything he would rather spend his money on thenas a means to spend time with Yuuri. For years, Victor had let himself be defined by skating and skating alone. The prizes and wealth being a five-time world champion brought sat mostly ignored in his bank account, (save the odd gift for Makkachin, of course). Victor wasn't stupid- he knew he was being reckless, spending so much. But it was very, very hard to care when he thought of what that money was bringing him.  
  
He thought of Yuuri, waiting upstairs for him. Would he be sitting on the bed, hair slicked back and shirt teasingly open? Or would he still be in the shower? Glasses left on the bathroom counter, gathering steam. Victor honestly couldn’t decide which idea sounded best. The one where he got to peel Yuuri out of all his troublesome clothes, revealing skin bit by bit. Or the other where…  
  
‘You’re definitely not listening to me,’ Yuri griped loudly, shaking Victor out of his thoughts. Unfortunately, Yuri’s whining was not distracting enough and Victor adjusted his coat accordingly, tying the buttons to cover himself. ‘Have you spent so much you can longer afford English?’  
  
‘Honestly, where did you ever learn such manners?’ Victor huffed, heat flooding his cheeks as shame washed over him. For God’s sake, he was an _adult._ ‘I really need to let you go now, I have-’  
  
‘ _Net, bliad’!’_ Yuri snapped and Victor squawked without any semblance of grace at the language, but Yuri didn’t give him the chance to protest. ‘You said you’d help me reorganise my quads!’  
  
‘Did I?’ Victor watched as the doors of the lift opened before him, nodding to the man he passed on his way out. Yuri muttered irritably in Russian as Victor made his way down towards his hotel room. How many people would he be putting in harm’s way if he triggered an infamous Plisetsky tantrum by hanging up right now? Was it more than he was capable of not feeling guilty over?  
  
‘Yuri, I’m very sorry but I’m just about-’  
  
‘You’re the worst. You’re the worst choreographer and the worst person,’ Yuri interrupted, all teenage venom. Victor struggled to get the key card out of his pocket with one hand, gear-bag slipping on his shoulder.  
  
‘Can we please talk later?’ Victor said, exasperation evident in his voice and he winced, knowing what was coming. Never show any sign of weakness to Yuri Plisetsky.

'No! It's bad enough you're not here, never mind trying to weasel your way out of talking to me!'

The hotel room door opened just as Victor fished his key out. Yuuri stood inside, wrapped in a white bathrobe and smelling of soap, smiling beneath his adorable blue glasses. Victor could see that his hair was pushed back but still damp, cheeks flushed. He must've just showered. Victor tried not to feel disappointed while Yuri ranted in his ear about Yakov alledgedly ignoring him.

Giving Victor a once over, Yuuri guided Victor into the room silently. He pulled Victor's gear-bag from his shoulder, then helped Victor out of his coat as he grunted aimlessly down the phone in agreement with whatever Yuri Plisetsky was complaining about now. 

Yuri and Yuuri. That was going to get confusing. 

The room was large and expensive this time. Victor's choice. It had a small lounge and a separate bedroom. One Victor looked hopefully towards as Yuuri stepped around to face Victor's again after putting his gear-bag on the luggage table by the door.   
  
Once divide of his coat, Yuuri ran his hands over Victor’s shoulders, eyes following the movement, before he slipped one down Victor’s arm. Linking their hands together, Yuuri guided Victor towards the couch, where Victor sat. Staring up at Yuuri, Victor’s grip on the phone tightened while the other twisted itself into a fist against the grain of the fabric. Yuuri stepped back, just a fraction, hands teasingly coming up to the belt of his robe.  
  
Victor suddenly didn’t feel any regret in missing Yuuri shower if it meant he got to see this- Yuuri _oh so_ slowly stripping off the fluffy, hotel robe to reveal his still damp skin. Warmth spread underneath Victor’s skin like liquid, like Victor could feel the very tingling edges of arousal flood down through him. Yuuri’s body was everything Victor remembered and more. It was daylight, for the first time for them being together. Victor could see stretch marks on Yuuri’s stomach, dimples on his waist. Victor wanted kiss every one, bite bruises there so he might lay claim to those tiny bits of Yuuri that no one may ever have seen.  
  
Yuuri smiled, just a little. Just the smallest bit and he tilted his head back, glasses catching the light in one winking second. If this moment was to be called anything, this moment of having Yuuri stand before him, Victor would’ve called it _happiness._  
  
Victor made a small, aborted noise that could’ve been a moan if he hadn’t caught it as Yuuri let the robe fall away to the floor completely, exposing his narrow hips and curved stomach. Yuuri’s cock was still soft, but Victor wanted it. The urge to take Yuuri into his mouth, to let himself be filled with Yuuri overtook Victor with a delicious shudder.  
  
_‘_ _Ya ne budu govorit' po-angliyski. Ty ne zasluzhivayesh' etogo,’_ came distantly through the other end of the phone, but Victor was no longer paying any attention as Yuuri was sinking to the floor in front of him, right down to his knees.  
  
‘I’m so sorry, but something’s just come up,’ Victor said hurriedly, scrambling to hang up the phone as Yuri barked something down the other line. But Victor didn’t care. Instead, he threw the phone haphazardly away after he hung up, hearing it _thump_ somewhere. Yuuri raised an eyebrow.  
  
‘Was that important?’ he asked innocently, moving forward so he was down on his hands as well and Victor sighed as arousal coiled hot and tight inside him at the sight of Yuuri down on all fours. Victor could feel his cock start to fill, almost embarrassingly fast, trousers suddenly far too tight.  
  
‘No. Definitely not,’ Victor managed to pant out as Yuuri crawled up the small distance until he was between Victor’s legs.  
  
‘Good,’ Yuuri said softly, his voice barely more than a breath. Victor felt a whine burrow its way up his throat as Yuuri leaned forward, nose running along the inside of Victor’s thigh. He was so hard already, just imagining what Yuuri had planned.  
  
He’d already waited so long. Their phone and text conversations did nothing to prepare him for this moment. Suddenly, all Victor could think about was what it felt like to have Yuuri kiss him. What Yuuri sounded like when Victor would pinch his hips. What it felt like to be _inside_ of Yuuri. He twitched, hips tipping forward at the memory.  
  
Victor moaned as Yuuri made his way to the tent between his legs, brown eyes sinful behind his glasses. Yuuri hovered there, mouth pursed in a small kiss as he leant forward, pressing his lips against the straining in Victor’s trousers. The view was almost too much for Victor. His hips were started to shift restlessly, squirming against the couch cushions.

Then Yuuri opened his mouth and placed it over the swell of Victor’s cock, and Victor was _ruined._  
  
The mere sight of it snapped the elastic that was Victor’s arousal, cock twitching helplessly in its confines as Yuuri pressed his tongue up and against it. The heat was overwhelming, the wet of Yuuri’s mouth slowly beginning to seep through the fine Italian fabric. Victor groaned, a hand coming up to bury itself in Yuuri’s damp hair.  
  
Then Yuuri started to move, mouthing at Victor’s cock with open, sloppy kisses and Victor had to force himself not to let his head tip back with the pleasure of it. He kept his eyes fixed on Yuuri, on the slow, rolling movements of his head and how it rippled down his back. Christ.  
  
_‘Yuuri~’_ Victor breathed as Yuuri closed his shining lips around the bulge of Victor’s cock, brown eyes closing and cheeks hollowing out. Victor whined loudly, Yuuri’s name dying in it and unable to stop himself from bucking into the heat of Yuuri’s mouth.  
  
Then Yuuri made a low, rumbling noise from the back of his throat and Victor couldn’t wait anymore.  
  
Tightening his grip on Yuuri’s hair, Victor gave a sharp tug. Yuuri pulled away easily, following Victor’s command immediately and Victor’s stomach squeezed with want at the sight of the long, thin trail of saliva that ribboned from Yuuri’s mouth to his clothed erection.  
  
But Victor forced himself to be patient. He let his hand slip down Yuuri’s face, under his chin. He tilted Yuuri’s face up, applying some pressure until Yuuri got the idea. Yuuri sat up and back on his knees, watching Victor with curious eyes as Victor took Yuuri’s face in both his hands. Gently rubbing the tops of his cheeks with his thumbs, Victor smiled before closing the distance between them by leaning forward and taking Yuuri’s mouth.  
  
Yuuri was instant give, lips parted and tongue swiping with beautiful and electric precision. Victor countered it with a quick nip to Yuuri’s lips. Yuuri opened his mouth wide, moaning as Victor immediately plundered it with his own tongue. The kiss grew wet, sloppy, but Victor wouldn’t let up, wouldn’t give Yuuri the chance to get back into a motion. Victor pulled at Yuuri’s bottom lip with his teeth, only to meet Yuuri’s tongue with a strong suck as it moved to soothe the sting. Yuuri made a surprised whimper, but Victor just sucked more, desperate need driving him to fill his mouth with Yuuri. With his tongue, his taste. The noises he made. Victor wanted to swallow them whole.  
  
Slowly, Victor began to pull back. He still held Yuuri’s face steady, still kissed him. But he reduced his fucking to slow presses of his tongue against Yuuri’s, ignoring Yuuri’s impatient whine. He chuckled from the back of his throat as he heard it, rubbing more circles into Yuuri’s cheeks with the edges of his thumbs. Finally, Victor managed to pull himself away.  
  
Victor looked at Yuuri. Looked at his awkward glasses and his abused, red lips.  
  
‘You’re so beautiful,’ Victor whispered, like they were telling secrets. He rolled his hips to himself, seeking the friction he had craved for days. Yuuri’s eyes widened at his words though, just a bit. But Victor saw and his heart started to beat twice as fast. Yuuri blushed, cheeks blooming like the roses back home and he looked away from Victor.  
  
‘It’s strange,’ he said softly, not quite dropping to Victor’s quiet. Yuuri was smiling but he looked pensive, eyes slipping away from Victor’s face. ‘How could you, of all people, think something like that?’

Victor felt like there was something inside him. Something magnetic and polar, that was pulled by the compass of Yuuri’s expression as Victor wanted nothing more than to fall into it. Victor wanted to know the sinew of Yuuri’s muscles, the marrow of his bones. Wanted to show Yuuri how he was beautiful down to the very beads of his DNA.  
  
How did Yuuri not know?

The thought was hot in Victor’s head, sending metallic arousal straight to his aching cock. It was taboo, unethical. To break down such carefully constructed barriers. But Victor could see Yuuri’s cracks and he wanted to fill them in with everything Victor knew to be true. Remake Yuuri with his own presence, like they were somehow supposed to be. Victor wanted to be inside of Yuuri, inside of his life in a way Yuuri had never let anyone be before.

It was dangerous. Victor knew that. But he’d never been able to resist a challenge.  
  
‘Oh, Yuuri,’ Victor said because it was all he could say, unable to voice any of his thoughts aloud. He leaned forward, kissing Yuuri again with soft passion. Tried to convey the admiration Victor held. Victor felt the muscles beneath his fingertips relax, all the way down Yuuri’s neck. Victor followed them, fingers slipping down to Yuuri’s shoulders. ‘I missed you.’  
  
‘I missed you, too,’ Yuuri replied quickly and Victor believed him. It was addicting. The trust Victor had for the man in front of him. Yuuri said it and suddenly Victor knew it to be true.  
  
Eagerness overtook him and Victor slipped down from the couch, pushing Yuuri backwards until he had to move his legs out from under him. Yuuri let Victor press him down onto the floor, laughing a little as Victor ran his hands down Yuuri’s waist, skittering over where Victor was learning Yuuri to be ticklish. He filed the information away the same time he ground his hips down, clothed cock meeting the growing hardness of Yuuri’s naked one.  
  
They both sighed at the contact, Yuuri’s hands scrambling for purchase. One found itself in Victor’s hair, the other around his neck. Victor started to kiss down Yuuri’s throat, sucking lightly over the hollow of it and preening under Yuuri’s whimper. As Victor made his way down, licking and biting at Yuuri’s skin, he noticed a small mark on the edge of Yuuri’s shoulder. Victor froze in his kisses, cock pulsing as a need struck him.  
  
It was unmistakable. Round, red and ugly. Pinpoints where teeth had dug in.  
  
Victor tightened his grip on Yuuri’s waist, twisting the skin there and Yuuri cried out, holding Victor firmly in retaliation. The noise caused Victor to thrust aimlessly forward as the thick _want_ grew inside of him, grinding against Yuuri roughly. Victor was stronger, or Yuuri was not so willing to hold him- whichever it was, Victor found himself pulling back, looking down at Yuuri with his teeth bared.  
  
‘You’re marked,’ he said, the words slipping out from between his teeth. Yuuri was breathing heavily, chest stuttering between them. His eyes were half-closed, but at Victor’s tone, he opened them properly. He gave Victor a quick look, eyebrows knitting together before he glanced over to the side. To where the bitemark was.  
  
The bitemark left by _someone else._  
  
‘Oh,’ Yuuri breathed, voice trembling.  
  
Victor didn’t want to know. He didn’t. What he and Yuuri had- it was different. Victor knew that. Yuuri had told him himself, even if he didn’t quite remember. They weren’t _together_ . Of course they weren’t. Victor was still paying him, after all. But he knew their relationship was different to that of Yuuri’s other clients. He knew Yuuri considered him to be different. Given everything, Victor knew that.  
  
None of that seemed to matter. Because in their short-time together and even when Victor had called Yuuri earlier in the week, no one else had ever infringed on that small, fragile space they had between them. But now…  
  
‘Who were you with? Before me,’ Victor asked, surprised at how calm his voice sounded considering he felt like something hungry had awoken inside of him. Yuuri looked like he was going to sit up, so Victor pushed a leg between Yuuri’s legs, pinning him where he was most sensitive. Victor could feel Yuuri’s cock, stiff but still not all the way there. Yuuri groaned, hips bucking into Victor’s leg, dragging the weight of his cock against Victor’s knee.  
  
‘No- no one,’ he panted, eyes closing and glasses sliding askew as he leant his head back against the plush carpet of the hotel room. Victor pressed his knee down, pressing a hand firm into Yuuri’s skin as he slid it up the side of Yuuri’s body, all the way up to Yuuri’s shoulder until his fingers met the bitemark.  
  
‘You were obviously with someone,’ Victor said quietly, slowing beginning to grind down himself on the one of Yuuri’s legs that was between his own. Yuuri canted forwards, cock coming to full attention very fast. ‘When?’  
  
‘Victor-’  
  
‘Tell me, Yuuri,’ Victor asked. Then he pressed the tips of his fingers into the bitemark, _hard._ Yuuri moaned, hips beginning a slow, hot rut against Victor’s thigh. Possessiveness bit at Victor with sharp teeth, hungering for the way Yuuri’s mouth fell open. ‘Tell me now.’  
  
Yuuri opened his eyes, meeting Victor’s gaze head on. He swallowed, Adam’s apple thick in his throat. Victor wanted to kiss it. Wanted to lick his way down Yuuri’s body. Taste parts of Yuuri no one had ever had.  
  
‘Not today,’ Yuuri said quietly, but firmly. He watched Victor from behind his glasses, damp hair drying in a flare as it was still mostly pushed back from his face. He looked the picture of an invitation, but Victor wasn’t satisfied yet. Yuuri took a long, shuddering breath. ‘Last night.’  
  
Victor’s other hand pinched Yuuri’s waist without meaning to, Victor starting when Yuuri gasped beneath him. Victor rubbed where he had squeezed too hard in soothing circles and Yuuri keened at it. Yuuri kept his hips rolling, cock fully hard now and rubbing wickedly against Victor’s leg. Victor’s own erection ached with a need to be touched, a need to find friction. Victor rutted against Yuuri’s thigh, but it wasn’t enough.  
  
None of it was enough. If Yuuri was willing to give it to someone other than Victor, then Victor didn’t want it. He wanted what Yuuri wouldn’t give to someone else. Victor wanted to pull the teeth that had marked Yuuri right out of him.  
  
‘Get to the bed,’ Victor commanded, standing up and giving Yuuri room to get up as well. He offered a hand, warmth spreading from where Yuuri took it. Yuuri looked worried, but it was undone with how red his face was. How hard his cock was between his legs. Victor found himself staring at it, licking his lips and balling his other hand into a fist.  
  
_‘Victor,’_ Yuuri said with a soft exhale, Victor’s name so long in his mouth. Victor squeezed Yuuri’s hand, starting to walk them towards the bedroom. Yuuri followed him, silent footsteps on the carpet.  
  
When Victor had Yuuri where he wanted him, he pushed Yuuri down onto the bed. Yuuri took the hint, shuffling up until he was on his back, spread out for Victor to look at. And look Victor did, drinking every inch Yuuri gave him while Yuuri removed his glasses to put on the bedside table.  
  
Yuuri was watching him from beneath his lashes when he lay back down and there was a silent demand written across every inch of his face. Victor had seen it before, that drive. That dark and quiet request. _Look at me_ , Yuuri seemed to be saying, with the way his hands splayed against the expensive comforter and his toes curled. _Don’t take your eyes off me_ , just like that first night when Yuuri had been all liquid confidence and bursting heat on a dancefloor.  
  
Victor wouldn’t deny him anything. Couldn’t, because even now, with another person’s teeth pinched into his skin, Yuuri was looking _at Victor._ He was asking for Victor, doing what Victor said. Answering to the name only Victor knew. Knowing that almost soothed the hurt of seeing the evidence that Yuuri wasn’t as claimed as Victor fancied him to be. Almost.  
  
‘What do you want?’ Yuuri asked, low and breathless. Victor wasn’t sure, but he was starting to undress himself, eyes never moving from Yuuri’s face. Yuuri’s hands started to move and it set Victor’s blood on fire, cock throbbing in his trousers as Yuuri slid his hands down his own chest. He moved lower, fingers running along his stomach, through the very fine, dark hairs, all practiced grace  
  
But that was just the thing. Victor didn’t want what Yuuri practiced. Didn’t want Yuuri to just give him what he wanted. Victor wanted what he knew they could have, what Yuuri had let him have before. Victor wanted to push Yuuri off that precipice, send him tumbling down into Victor’s arms that would be waiting to catch him.  
  
Now naked, Victor sighed with relief as his cock was finally free of the deep seam of his trousers. He crawled onto the bed, hovering over Yuuri’s body. Yuuri’s hands froze, just inches from where he no doubt wanted them. Victor knelt back, taking a hand in each of his own and moving them up and above Yuuri’s head. He couldn’t resist- there was something about Yuuri being stretched out like this that set a lancing throb right through Victor that was too addicting to let go of.  
  
Yuuri looked like this when he danced. Hands above his head, back arching with the stretch. Victor just knew he’d be beautiful on the ice, once he got Yuuri there. Seduction incarnate. Everyone would see and everyone would fall in love, Victor knew. But only Victor would know exactly how it felt to hold someone who was clearly so strong underneath him.  
  
Yuuri whined impatiently when his arms were pinned, hips bucking up against Victor. His cock rubbed against Victor’s own and Victor could feel the warm stick of pre-cum where they touched and he moaned. ‘Christ, Yuuri.’  
  
‘I was thinking about you,’ Yuuri said and it was the right thing to say, as suddenly Victor felt like his very skin was too small for him. He felt taut, stretched out like an elastic band waiting to snap and he pushed forward, grinding his hips down. His cock pushed into Yuuri’s stomach and Victor grunted at the pressure, looking up to quickly capture Yuuri’s mouth in a open, wet kiss.

Between the sloppy laving into Yuuri’s mouth, Victor would breathe out the words, sharing Yuuri’s hot, panting breath; ‘When? _Mmm._ When did you think about me?’  
  
Victor knew but he wanted Yuuri to say it. Yuuri blushed, turning his head slightly down like he might try and hide it. Victor growled, using one his hands to get beneath Yuuri’s chin, forcing him to look up. Yuuri did, eyes wide and mouth shining from Victor’s abuse of it. Victor ground down again, this time their cocks lining up beautifully and Victor felt tight as Yuuri’s cock slipped in the hollow space of his pelvis. Yuuri moaned.  
  
‘Tell me,’ Victor said firmly. Yuuri’s breath was a skittering, damp thing against Victor’s mouth and Victor wanted nothing but to breathe it in, swallow it down and have Yuuri fill his very lungs. ‘Be honest, Yuuri. Please.’  
  
Maybe it was the _please_ that did it, but Yuuri made a small whine, hands squirming but not moving from where Victor left him. Victor kissed Yuuri’s shoulder to reward him.  
  
‘Last- last night,’ Yuuri managed to get out, hips rutting up against Victor and Victor could feel the dampness between them growing. Could feel Yuuri leaking and the hot slick that pooled between them from it.  
  
‘Who was he?’ Victor asked, running his thumb along Yuuri’s bottom lip. Yuuri’s eyes fell closed and he shook his head slightly, like he was afraid of losing Victor’s grip on him.  
  
‘Not he. Her,’ Yuuri answered. Victor blinked, honestly not expecting it. He knew, somewhere in the back of his very distracted mind, that Yuuri must get clients of all genders and persuasions. But hearing it was something else. It reminded him, quite vividly, how much about Yuuri was still unseen to him.

Victor hated the reminder.  
  
The need to mark almost overtook Victor. He wanted to bite his very name onto Yuuri’s skin, wanted to stake claim so that no man, or woman, or _anyone_ would even consider themselves possible of making Yuuri feel as good as Victor could. As Victor would.

‘What did you think about?’ Victor pressed his thumb hard against Yuuri’s lips, almost feeling the bump of his teeth beneath the skin. Then Yuuri ducked down, mouth open and Victor’s thumb slipped into the wet heat of Yuuri’s mouth. Victor made a noise at the sight of Yuuri closing his lips around it, giving one firm, tight suck.  
  
Yuuri’s tongue swirls around the digit in dirty circles, unseen but very, very real as Victor could feel every ridge of it. It tumbled down through Victor in a shudder, hips now turning frantic as his cock pulsed with desire. Yuuri’s eyes were like burning log fire, watching Victor with dark intent, his lips so tight around Victor’s thumb.  
  
Victor pushed his thumb further into Yuuri’s mouth, felt the tip of it skirt the edge of Yuuri’s throat and Yuuri groaned around it, sucking more earnestly now. The bobbing motion somewhat echoed their aimless rutting, the two things stimulating more than heat inside of Victor. It was electricity. Lightning, straight down from heaven above.  
  
‘Fuck,’ Victor said as Yuuri continued to suck, his eyes falling closed as he tried to take Victor’s thumb deeper. Yuuri’s movements turned desperate beneath him, Victor could feel his cock slip with the slick against Yuuri’s hipbone. The wet, heavy feeling of Yuuri’s cock sent Victor spiraling. ‘Did you think about this? About me in your mouth?’  
  
‘Mmm,’ was all Yuuri managed around Victor’s thumb. Victor ran his other hand down Yuuri’s arm, under his shoulder and down his waist. He smiled, heart bursting with something dangerous as Yuuri lost himself to the memory.  
  
‘When you were fucking her, did you imagine it was me?’  
  
Yuuri whined, lips coming away so the noise escaped him but Victor moved- pushing his thumb back in and loving Yuuri’s surprised grunt at the invasion. Victor started to slip his thumb in and out of Yuuri’s mouth, fucking into it so slowly. Victor wanted to be inside that mouth. Wanted to grab Yuuri by the hair and give him _exactly_ what he had been imagining. He wanted to fuck Yuuri’s mouth until Yuuri was hoarse, until he couldn’t speak. Victor wanted to steal Yuuri’s voice so he couldn’t possibly make the wonderful noises he was making now for someone else.  
  
‘What do you want now, Yuuri?’ Victor teased, kissing Yuuri on the corner of his mouth. Yuuri turned, opening his mouth wider to try and accommodate without letting go of Victor’s thumb. Victor sighed happily, spiking hot rods of pleasure shooting through him and straight to his cock.  
  
Yuuri surrendered Victor’s thumb to kiss him properly and Victor let him. He trailed his hand down Yuuri’s chin, catching Yuuri’s throat in a passive press. Yuuri moaned into the kiss, a needy, guttural noise from the back of his throat that Victor could feel reverberate through the skin under his fingertips.  
  
‘ _Victor’,_ Yuuri said, kisses turning sharp as he seemed to grow more needy. He nipped at Victor’s lips, tugged at his tongue with strong sucks. He fucked his hips up to meet Victor’s and everything was so hot and so wet between them. ‘I missed you- so much. So much.’

Something burst into life at Yuuri’s words and suddenly Victor wanted more than to hoard everything Yuuri was giving, he wanted to _plunder_ everything Yuuri hadn’t given yet either. Victor leaned back, Yuuri whining with disappointment. Victor sat back on his heels, hand coming down to give himself a stroke to try and ease off the burning, tight tension. He looked at Yuuri’s cock, red and shining with pre-come in the filtered daylight. His blush like spilled paint, down across his chest.  
  
_I missed him, too,_ Victor thought, fingers coming around himself in a tight loop.  
  
Yuuri’s eyes dropped to watch Victor’s movement, mouth hanging open in a sinful pant.  
  
‘Show me,’ Victor said, the command light but Yuuri’s eyes darkened anyway. Victor stroked himself once, twice. He gritted his teeth as the pleasure of it shot up through him like adrenaline. ‘Show me what you wanted me to do.’  
  
With a gentle nod, Yuuri sat up for a moment to get the bottle of lube from the bedside table. Victor hadn’t even noticed it was there. His heart suddenly twisted with fondness. Yuuri was so practical. Then Yuuri was on his back once again, watching Victor with his eyes on fire.  
  
Yuuri’s cock leaked, beading pre-come edging up and over the tip. When Yuuri went to take himself in hand, it spread between his fingers and Victor groaned at the sight of it. Victor wanted to taste it. Yuuri was long, not as thick as Victor himself. Victor was sure Yuuri could reach places in Victor that had never been reached. Victor tightened his hold on his own cock as the thought of what it would feel like to have Yuuri fuck him threatened to push him over.  
  
Slowly, Yuuri started to fist himself. Victor froze, enraptured. There was nothing in the hotel room but the sound of Yuuri’s deep pants, the wet sound of his skin. Victor let himself drown in it.

‘Tell me, _miliy,’_ Victor said, sounding breathless. Yuuri grunted, his head tipping back and his eyes closed as he moved over himself. ‘Tell me what you wanted.’  
  
‘I-’ Yuuri’s pink cheeks were turning red and Victor delighted in it. ‘I imagined you touching me. Like this.’  
  
‘When you were with her?’ Victor asked, trying to stroke himself in tandem to Yuuri. Yuuri tossed his head, eyes still closed as he picked up the pace. Victor watched the way Yuuri’s foreskin pulled back, revealing his glistening head before it would bunch back up, beading slick.  
  
‘Yes. And before.’ Victor groaned, squeezing the base of his cock to stop from going too far. Yuuri didn’t seem to notice, his other hand scrambling with the bottle of lube. ‘When I was on my own, too. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.’

 _I missed you_ is what Yuuri had said and Victor knew it to be true. He thought of what Yuuri had confessed to him the week before, not that Yuuri could remember. How he had admired Victor for so long, how he had fantasised about meeting him for years. Victor wondered, watching Yuuri pop the lid off the lube and release his cock to spread some on his hand, if whatever Yuuri had imagined when he was younger was close to what was happening now.  
  
Victor was selfish of those thoughts. Knowing how Yuuri had felt about him, how Yuuri _could_ feel about him was one of the most precious things Victor had ever been given.  
  
Then Victor lost his train of thought entirely as Yuuri bypassed his cock with slicked fingers, instead travelling further down so he could tease at his hole.  
  
‘Fuck,’ Victor said again because it was the only thing he could think of as Yuuri pressed the pad of a finger against his own entrance, keening noise pushing up and out of him as Yuuri’s back arched. _‘Yuuri.’_ _  
_ _  
_ Yuuri made another noise. A needy, high-pitched thing that crawled into Victor’s chest and sated whatever hungry beast happened to live there. Then Yuuri pushed a finger inside of himself, mouth opening in silence and Victor stroked himself to the sight of it. The slow, dry drag of his own foreskin was like a promise of what he could have if he was patient, so Victor tried to stay slow. But his cock was aching and Yuuri was pushing his finger in, all the way to the first knuckle with seemingly no resistance.  
  
Like Yuuri’s body was opening up, like it had been waiting for Victor this entire time and could wait no more. Victor whimpered, watching as Yuuri moved his finger in and out of himself, skin shining with lube. Watched as Yuuri’s finger slipped in and out in a familiar motion Victor was dying to recreate.  
  
Victor knew it was more practical than that. He was still competing, both he and Yuuri discussing at length in their texts what they would be doing. But seeing it in person- reacquainting himself with the colour on Yuuri’s skin, remembering the noises Yuuri made. It was like Victor had been holding his breath until this very moment.  
  
‘Did you imagine this, too?’ Victor asked as Yuuri started to shift his hips in small, bucking movements down onto his finger. ‘Me doing this to you?’

‘No,’ Yuuri said and Victor looked up at his face, meeting Yuuri’s dark eyes. ‘I imagined this. Exactly. You watching me, just like this.’  
  
Victor started to rut into his hand, the other one pinching his own thigh to distract himself. Yuuri was able to open himself up easily, even just with one finger and Victor made a note to ask Yuuri to show him again another time. When they were less desperate, when Victor was more patient. Because now Yuuri was adding a second finger, hole opening to accommodate with shining ease.  
  
_‘Victor…’_ Yuuri’s voice was low, gasping. He scissored his fingers with speed, hand pushing forward until Victor could see nothing but the back of his wrist. Then Yuuri cried out, obviously finding what he had been looking for. Victor’s hand stuttered over his cock as he watched the pleasure wash over Yuuri’s face.  
  
Yuuri’s movements got more frantic. He poured more lube onto his fingers, down the dip of his pelvis and Victor gripped himself at the base tight to stop from coming at the lewd sight. Yuuri didn’t notice, eyes still closed as he pushed three fingers into himself, wrist moving in a lazy fucking motion that sent jabs of desire through Victor like blades.  
  
With a long, deep groan, Yuuri started to flex his fingers as he moved them in and out. He started whimpering, sweat beading along his forehead and his chest starting to glisten in the veiled sunlight.  
  
‘I- _uh, god._ I want you so badly,’ Yuuri gritted out from between his teeth and Victor knew the sentiment.  
  
Victor released himself and moved forward, hovering over Yuuri’s body and situating himself between Yuuri’s legs. Yuuri opened his eyes and stared up at Victor, pupils blown wide and mouth open in damp pants. Victor leaned on one hand, resting his fingers against Yuuri’s shoulder. The other he trailed down Yuuri’s chest, his stomach. He listened as Yuuri whined when Victor bypassed his cock, then grinned when Yuuri gasped when he realised what Victor was going to do.  
  
‘Tell me what you want, Yuuri,’ Victor said, hand clasping Yuuri’s wrist where it rolled between his legs. Yuuri made a small _ah ah_ noise as Victor closed his hand around Yuuri’s wrist tighter. Then, Victor started to move Yuuri’s hand for him and the feeling of resistance- from Yuuri’s wrist being bent, from the muscle of Yuuri’s entrance, it was like electricity sparking all the way through him.  
  
‘Victor!’ Yuuri cried, throwing his head back. His other hand scrambled at Victor’s back, looking for purchase as Victor controlled Yuuri’s hand that was fucking him. It was addicting, dark and illicit- to move someone like this, for Yuuri to just let Victor do it.  
  
Victor looked down between them, looked at his own hand push Yuuri’s slicked fingers into himself. Victor moaned quietly as he watched Yuuri stretch around himself, cock shining with slick and pre-come as it bobbed to the movement, untouched. It looked as aching as Victor felt.  
  
Yuuri looked wrecked. Cheeks flushed, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. His hips were starting to move in earnest now, fucking himself to the point where Victor’s hand would graze the inside of his thighs and they would both groan at the contact. Yuuri thrust down onto his own fingers, Victor holding them firm so he could get deeper. Victor knew he was hitting deeper, could tell by Yuuri’s high-pitched whine whenever he ground down.  
  
Victor knew that Yuuri had been an escort for a long time. But he sincerely doubted he’d ever given anyone this. This complete surrender, this desperate needy thing that spilled out of him in honest blushes and genuine sound.  
  
This was for Victor. And Victor was hardly going to share.  
  
Watching Yuuri come undone on his own fingers, with Victor controlling exactly how fast and how hard was something Victor was very much enjoying, but his cock was starting to ache to the side of painful now with impatience and Victor leaned down, claiming Yuuri’s lips in a bruising kiss.  
  
‘Condoms,’ Victor said against Yuuri’s lips and Yuuri threw a hand up above him, fishing a string of them from beneath the pillows.  
  
Victor pulled Yuuri’s fingers out of himself, adoring the way Yuuri’s hole clenched after them, clearly desperate to be filled. A desperation Victor full intended on satiating.  
  
Yuuri struggled to open a condom for himself as Victor easily but hurriedly slid one onto his cock, hissing at the contact. God, he needed this so badly.  
  
When Yuuri finally got the condom onto himself, Victor grabbed Yuuri by the hips and flipped him over, loving Yuuri’s shocked gasp as he hit the mattress again with an audible _whump._ Victor knelt behind him, grabbing Yuuri by the hips and pulling him up onto all fours. Victor ran his hands up then down Yuuri’s back, thumbs grazing the cleft of his ass and Yuuri keened, arching his beautiful back and presenting himself.  
  
‘Did you think about this?’ Victor asked, reaching down for the abandoned bottle of lube. He squirted some straight down the spread of Yuuri’s cheeks, the gasp Yuuri made at the cool substance shooting through Victor in one sharp, hot twist. Victor rubbed the lube against Yuuri’s entrance, pressing his thumb into the already stretched space.  
  
‘Y-yes,’ Yuuri panted, pushing his hips back. Victor pushed his thumb into Yuuri slowly, rubbing the lube around the slick space.

  
‘Do you still want it?’ Victor asked, withdrawing only to line himself up with Yuuri’s hole, trembling as his head grazed against it.  
  
‘Yes!’ Yuuri cried, pushing back again but Victor held onto his hips tightly, holding him steady. Yuuri whined in protest as Victor undulated his hips slowly, brushing the head of his cock against the slick of Yuuri’s entrance.  
  
‘Beg for it,’ Victor asked, knowing he was being cruel. But from this position, he could see quite clearly the bite that other client had left on the curve of Yuuri’s shoulder. Like Yuuri had been theirs to do so. It lit something inside Victor that had no problem with being cruel.  
  
But Yuuri- beautiful, gorgeous and open Yuuri- did what he always seemed to. He surprised Victor by giving him exactly what he asked for, mouth opening in a deep whine as he breathed out; ‘Please, Victor. Please fuck me. I need you. Have needed you, so bad-’  
  
Victor didn’t give Yuuri the chance to finish, pushing inside of him with one firm thrust and Yuuri cried out, back bent like an arabesque and god, he was still so _tight._  
  
Victor leaned down over Yuuri’s back, folding himself in half over Yuuri’s skin and sinking deeper as he did. Yuuri whined again, needy and wet and Victor grunted into Yuuri’s back, hips bucking uncontrollably.  
  
‘Sorry, sorry,’ Victor said, kissing the back of Yuuri’s neck. 'Too fast.'

But Yuuri just shook his head frantically, pushing backwards

  
‘No,’ he said breathlessly, grinding back onto Victor’s cock with uneven movements. ‘Don’t stop. Please.’  
  
Like Victor could ever say no to that.  
  
Victor slammed into Yuuri, pulling a cry from him like a splinter. Victor felt like he would burst, molten hot emotion and arousal simmering beneath his skin, threatening to erupt and consume him. Victor held onto Yuuri’s hips, pounding into Yuuri with such force that soon Yuuri’s arms gave way, shuddering weight as he cried out, bending even more sinfully, letting Victor fuck into him deeper.  
  
Yuuri turned wild beneath him, ramming back into Victor’s thrusts with loud fervour. Victor knew it wouldn’t last much longer, he wouldn’t be able to after having teased Yuuri for so long. But it was worth it. It was worth it for the punishing tightness of Yuuri clenching around him, his breathy moans and sweaty back before Victor like he had been dreamed up for this very purpose.  
  
Victor fucked Yuuri brutally, pouring the desperation he’d felt all week into the movement of driving his cock in and out of Yuuri’s scorching heat. He wanted to tell Yuuri just how badly he missed him. He wanted Yuuri to confess to him all the secrets Victor knew he was still keeping, buried somewhere under lock and key. Victor wanted to be that key.  
  
‘Victor-! I need to, _god,_ please!’  
  
Victor understood, feeling the sharp edges of his own orgasm begin to tear into him from the coiling hot feeling low in his gut.  
  
‘Yuuri!’ Victor cried, unable to say anything else but Yuuri’s name but it seemed to be enough, as Yuuri whimpered beneath him, trying to balance on one hand as he reached down to take himself in hand. Victor bent low over Yuuri’s back again, licking a wet stripe on the back of Yuuri’s neck as he felt Yuuri’s body tremble.  
  
Turning his head, Victor blew his fringe out his face and looked across Yuuri’s skin. Once he found it, Victor bit down. Hard. Yuuri yelped and Victor could feel him coming, felt Yuuri’s body clench down around him like a velvet vice and Victor groaned into his bite on Yuuri’s shoulder, fucking Yuuri frantically as he chased his own orgasm.  
  
When Victor came, it felt like he was snapped in half. The pulsing of his cock shuddered up through his body, pulling the nerves of his spine taut and Victor pressed bruises into Yuuri’s skin as he gripped his hips to anchor himself.  
  
They stayed that way for a moment, breathing heavily and listening to the distant sound of traffic outside. Victor kissed Yuuri over the bite he’d left. It was angry and purple, completely dwarfing out the one it covered.  
  
Victor smirked, pleased.  
  
Afterwards, Victor invited Yuuri to shower with him, which he accepted with a nervous blush. It was endearing and Victor loved the way it felt to wash Yuuri’s hair. Loved the way Yuuri’s eyes closed as he tipped his head back to keep the suds out of his eyes. It made Victor’s heart flip, like it was being seared on both sides.  
  
Once they were dried off and dressed, Victor tied Yuuri’s scarf

for him. He fixed the collar of the handsome blue peacoat Yuuri had worn for Victor before and Yuuri looked up at him, wearing his adorable blue glasses again.  
  
‘Ready?’ Victor asked, smiling sweetly. He roamed over Yuuri’s round cheeks, sneaking a quick glance to the shoulder he knew he’d marked. It spread warmth through Victor like the way snow would melt.  
  
Yuuri grinned up at Victor, looking drunkenly happy.  
  
‘Ready.’

 

* * *

 

They spent the afternoon wandering Detroit, but only very select parts that Yuuri suggested.

‘Detroit isn’t the best place to get lost in,’ Yuuri said by way of an explanation. Victor spent most of their time watching Yuuri anyway. The way his eyes lit up when he pointed something out, like a café he apparently used to study in and the bar where he had his first drink in America. The pink flush his rounded cheeks got in the cold wind. The way his fingers felt against Victor’s, as Victor refused to let Yuuri’s hand go for anything.

  
Yuuri was just so charming. Everything he did pulled Victor in, his smile a constellation to a sky Victor hadn’t even noticed he was watching. Victor felt so humbled to be allowed to see Yuuri like this, to know which compliments Yuuri filed under work and which actually inspired the blush Victor found himself attracted to. Victor wanted to know more and as they walked, Yuuri obliged him just like he had on their second date, answering all of Victor’s questions with quiet wonder.

‘I just don't understand,’ Yuuri said as they passed the edge of a park after telling Victor that he had an older sister. Victor looked at him, noticing the way his hair fell now it wasn't styled. Yuuri glanced over from behind his glasses. ‘Why do you want to know all this?’

‘Because I find you interesting,’ Victor said because it was true. He didn't mention that he was also waiting for the right opening to press further about what Yuuri admitted to that night the party.

Yuuri shook his head, smiled dazed.

‘Well, that's just- no one does that,’ he laughed and Victor felt a pang of sympathy. Why would Yuuri think of himself so poorly?

Wouldn't anyone be as interested? Yuuri was so magnetic, so engaging. Who wouldn't meet him and want to know him?

Victor smiled, picking at non-existent fluff on Yuuri’s shoulder. Just to feel him, just to skim his fingers over the lovebite that lay beneath Yuuri’s coat.

How lucky for Victor that no one had. Victor had never been very good at sharing.

'Do you have many other clients?' Victor asked later when they were back in the hotel restaurant after a day of aimless wandering and conversation.

Victor was trying very hard to aim for a disinterested tone. But the way Yuuri caught his eye across the dinner table, round, brown and gorgeous, told him that Yuuri knew exactly what he was asking. Victor shrugged, taking a blasé sniff of his wine before speaking again;

‘Asides from Chris and myself.'

'You're my favourite,' Yuuri responded easily and Victor hated how that wasn't an answer. It probably wasn't even something Yuuri thought of now, another line from his performance. How many other people had asked before Victor? And as much as Victor enjoyed the show, the more time he was spending with Yuuri the more he wanted Yuuri to leave Eros behind.

'Hypothetically,' Victor started, reaching for his glass and twirling it between his fingers. He wasn’t nervous. Not really. 'Would it be possible to book you exclusively?'

Yuuri blinked and Victor smiled, indulging himself. There it was. The look Victor had fast fallen in love with. Yuuri was surprised. Victor loved surprising him. Yuuri's mouth opened once, then twice and still he hadn't said anything. Victor threw him a smirk, loving how despite everything he could still make Yuuri blush just a little bit under his eyes. Like a tiny, adorably pink mask. But Yuuri seemed to find his footing, taking a careful sip of wine before answering.

'And by exclusively, you mean?'

'Just me,' Victor replied instantly, wanting to be clear. Yuuri's face was something Victor hadn’t seen yet. Eyes wide, but mouth tight with- fright, almost. For a moment, Victor thought Yuuri looked hopeful, but then the familiar mask slipped over again and Yuuri smiled coyly from across the table, all semblance of nerves and shock fading from his round features.

'You couldn't afford it,' he teased quietly, running a stray hair behind his ear. It was strikingly endearing, the low light of the restaurant casting his face into shadows and candlelight in his glasses. Victor felt the urge to kiss him course through like adrenaline.

'No special rate then, for being your favourite?' Victor flirted back, reaching a leg out from under the table to hook around Yuuri's. Yuuri's eyes were slanted now in promise, heat building like it had consistently over the day since Victor arrived.

They were becoming less and less the matchstick of passion, and more the slow, deep burning of a sun.

Victor was happy to be burnt up within it.

'I can't afford to make exceptions,' Yuuri said, leaning over across the table, his lips the picture of invitation. Victor leaned forward as well, anticipation addictive. Yuuri smiled wider. ‘Well, anymore exceptions.’

'I promise to treat you very well,' Victor said, voice low and thick. He had an idea of what the accent did to Yuuri, any self-consciousness he may have felt about it evaporating completely.

Yuuri's eyes narrowed seductively, his gaze dropping to Victor's mouth, then back up to meet his eye. And sure, it was a move but it was a smooth move and Victor was falling for it. He kept the game going, indulging in Yuuri’s obvious love of his voice;

‘I'll bring you to the skating banquets, if you like. The politics of figure-skating can be quite the trial, but having you there is bound to make it more interesting. I could show you around as well, if Chris hasn't put you off skating forever with his horror stories.'

'I'm not going to be your courtesan, Victor,' Yuuri said, smiling. His bottom lip hooked under his teeth for a moment, releasing slowly. Victor loved the way Yuuri said his name. The c so sharp, puncturing a hole through him.

'Courtesan,' Victor repeated, slipping a hand across the table. He splayed his fingers across Yuuri's as they held the stem of the wine glass. Touching Yuuri's skin was electric, pulse hot between them. Flowers blooming in the heat of their sun. 'I like that. Makes me sound like the Tsar of Russia. What do you think?'

Yuuri breathed a laugh and what struck Victor the most about it was how genuine it sounded. Untrained.

'I think you'd be better to stick with skating,' Yuuri said, eyes bright and Victor could stare at them for hours. He held Yuuri's hand over the wine glass. ‘Tsars never seemed to have a good run of it.'

'What about courtesans?' Victor asked and then immediately regretted it, as that wasn't sexy at all. Didn’t courtesans also have a bad time? But Yuuri laughed again, louder this time. Victor felt like his heart stopped in his chest, tightened his grip on Yuuri's hand. Yuuri's smiled faltered, just a little.

‘I’m happy with being a good honest prostitute,’ Yuuri said bluntly and Victor was so surprised to hear the words that it rendered him silent. Yuuri looked down at his dessert, other hand idly turning his fork. ‘I don't need a tsar. I'm perfectly able to mind myself.’

Victor was sure something was going through Yuuri’s head, something he couldn't quite understand. He squeezed Yuuri’s hand and Yuuri looked up at him from under his feathery, black fringe. His brown eyes were careful. Victor wanted to say hopeful.

‘You don't have to,’ Victor suggested over the remnants of lemon meringue. He glanced at Yuuri’s plate. Not even half-eaten. He remembered what Yuuri had said when Victor brought him ice-skating. About food and watching his weight. ‘Have you ever thought about settling down?’

Yuuri shifted in his seat so Victor ran his foot up and down Yuuri’s leg in what he hoped was a soothing manner. But all it really seemed to do was spread another blush across Yuuri’s cheeks and give Victor’s stomach a pleasant flip.

‘No,’ Yuuri answered, eyes fixed on Victor’s lips, which Victor pulled into his most camera ready smile for him. Teeth flashing.

‘Shame,’ Victor said, raising his foot with a bit more pressure and rubbing circles onto the back of Yuuri’s hand. ‘I imagine whoever got the chance to look after you would be a very lucky person.’

‘I don't need anyone to look after me,’ Yuuri said, looking Victor in the eye now and it was doing funny, tingling things to Victor’s nerves.

Victor chuckled. ‘No, I suppose at your rate you’re more than set.’

Yuuri probably made more in a week than Victor would in a month, if he was busy. Was it wrong for Victor to hope he wasn't busy?

‘I’ll cover dinner,’ Yuuri said cheerily. Then he raised an eyebrow, all cheek and Victor found himself surprised once again. ‘I’ll take pity on you, poor Tsar.’

They both laughed, pooling heat still bubbling below the surface of the conversation. But the thought still circled around in Victor’s head, round and round like a spiral.

Victor tried to keep his voice even, but it sounded breathy even to him; 'Will you consider my offer?'

'Your offer of exclusivity?' Yuuri said carefully, watching Victor's face with his beautiful eyes. Yuuri's smile came back, but a little disappointed. Or at least Victor hoped that's what it was. 'I told you, you couldn't afford it.'

'I have a fair share of gold medals,' Victor said, aiming for the flirty tone they had had a moment ago as he wasn't sure what to do with Yuuri’s skittering emotion. Yuuri took the bait, grin back like the Chesire Cat.

'I don't accept those,' he said, leaning forward and finally closing the distance.

The kiss was soft, but then Yuuri's tongue ran along the seam of Victor's lips and Victor could deny him nothing. The kiss deepened, Victor's tongue being pressed back by Yuuri's and the feel of it sent molten heat straight into Victor's gut. Coiling like a spring. Then, Yuuri pulled back, licking his lips as he did.

'How about we focus on the time we do have,' Yuuri said hotly, breath against Victor's lips. 'Are you finished?'

'Yes,' Victor breathed, releasing Yuuri's hand only to help him out of his chair.

They spent the evening relearning everything. Victor sucked Yuuri opened with his tongue, guiding him slowly down onto his lap after. As Yuuri moved above him, hair frizzing and hands tight on Victor’s arm for balance, Victor found himself already thinking about when he could Yuuri to himself again. There was no way he could get away again before the Rostelecom Cup, but maybe-

Victor lost all train of thought as he came, calling out Yuuri’s name.

Later, when Yuuri was sleeping, naked and showered in Victor’s arms, Victor let himself go back to it. He thought of what it would be like to take Yuuri with him back to Russia. Of course, Victor knew he couldn't. But in the warm dark of the hotel room, with nothing but Yuuri’s gently breathing, Victor closed his eyes and imagined walking through the airport with Yuuri’s hand linked in his own.

Victor fell asleep and dreamt of St. Petersburg and the smell of cardboard from Yuuri’s room

* * *

 

Victor thrust into Yuuri with one, heavy movement. It pushed Yuuri up the bed, moaning wetly as he struggled to catch his breath. Victor was so _hot_ and thick inside him. His toned, moonlight body was over Yuuri, stomachs just meeting. Yuuri felt like his body had changed shape, like Victor had carved out a place for himself right there in Yuuri’s skin. He whimpered as Victor pulled out, sliding back in again with a torturously slow pace, Yuuri’s inner thighs destroyed with lube and slick. Yuuri tilted his hips, desperate to get Victor _deeper, harder, please!_  
  
But Victor just rolled his hips in a lazy, deep grind. He put both his hands under Yuuri’s legs, changing the angle so Yuuri could feel the swollen head of Victor’s cock brush against his prostate. Yuuri cried out with it, hands scraping down Victor’s back. Victor held Yuuri’s legs up under the thighs, spreading them lewdly like he was splitting Yuuri open and Yuuri could do nothing but let him as Victor leaned back, looking down at Yuuri with dark eyes. Yuuri scraped his hands down Victor’s arms, the only part of Victor he could reach from his back. Nails first,

Yuuri wanted to etch his name in Victor’s skin. Sign him, like the autographs Victor would hand out so easily. Like the one he had offered Yuuri four years ago, back when they didn’t know each other. Or at least, when Victor hadn’t known Yuuri.  
  
Victor sighed deeply as he hit Yuuri’s prostate again, breath heavy and sounding so wet when Yuuri moaned at the pleasure. Victor started to thrust a little faster, rougher and Yuuri whined, desperate for the feel of Victor’s cock dragging inside of him. He hit Yuuri’s prostate again and tears bloomed.  
  
‘Victor- _ah!_ Don’t stop, don’t stop,’ Yuuri babbled, one of his hands getting tangled in the sheets. He looked up, watched Victor’s hair. The hair he had admired for so, so long. The hair he had mourned, two years ago, when Victor had cut it first. Victor punctuated each breath with a firm thrust, hitting Yuuri right where he wanted to be hit.  
  
‘Feel good?’ Victor asked, huffing out a laugh when Yuuri could do nothing to reply but try and clamp his legs down in an attempt to hold Victor even closer. But he met the reistance of Victor’s large hands, holding him open. ‘You look gorgeous like this. So good for me.’  
  
Yuuri turned his head from the praise, tears leaking down his cheeks. Good. Good _for_ Victor.

‘Yuuri~’ Victor moaned, biting his own lip as he started to pick up his pace. Yuuri felt like the very sun had blossomed inside him as he heard Victor say his name, his _real_ name.  
  
The last weekend had been so intense. Like everything that was already so good with Victor had been dialed up to a hundred. It felt like cracks had splintered across Yuuri’s very soul, his life suddenly bleeding happy with the few, short bursts Victor was in it. Yuuri was riding shockwave after shockwave of the impact. It was potent in a way few things had even been for Yuuri.  
  
Being with Victor wasn’t like being with any other client. It was that first step out onto the ice, that exhilaration that stole the the breath from your lungs when you pushed off its surface into a jump. It was being sixteen and landing his first quad perfectly. It was the weight of a medal across his neck.  
  
Yuuri could do nothing but whimper as Victor continued to fuck him without mercy, giving Yuuri exactly what he asked for as words fell from his mouth like leaves fell from the trees.  
  
Harder. Victor went harder.  
  
Yes, like that. Victor kept doing it _just like that._ _  
_ _  
_ ‘Come with me,’ Victor asked, breathless and Yuuri very desperately wanted to, about to move to take himself in hand when Victor suddenly continued, voice just above a growl as he drove into Yuuri with force; ‘To Russia, please.’  
  
Yuuri froze, opening his eyes and staring at Victor down from beneath his lashes. Victor was watching him intensely, slowing his hips back down that frustrating grind. Yuuri whimpered in protest, bucking his hips lamely but Victor held him steady by his legs.  
  
‘W-why?’ Yuuri managed to get out, gritting his teeth as Victor grazed against his prostate again. ‘Why would you want that? _Victor, god!’_ _  
_ _  
_ Victor closed his eyes briefly as he caught sight of Yuuri’s cock twitching, achingly hard between them as Victor fucked him right where he wanted it again, seemingly trying to steady himself. When they were open, the blue of them was like slivers of diamond through burning, hot coals.  
  
‘I want you there,’ Victor sighed, beginning to move faster again and Yuuri nearly sobbed from the pleasure of it, convulsing tightly down on Victor’s cock. They both groaned, Victor swearing under his breath before he managed to speak again; ‘For the- ah, Yuuri~ The Rostelecom Cup. I want you to watch me skate.’  
  
‘I always do,’ Yuuri confessed, the truth feeling like it was being pushed out of him by the hot pleasure Victor was driving in. Victor made a noise at that. Could’ve been a groan, could’ve been Yuuri’s name. Yuuri was finding it very hard to pay attention.  
  
Yuuri knew he was close, hands twisting themselves into the blanket beneath him as Victor kept up a punishing pace, his trim nails dug so far into Yuuri’s thighs that it had to mark. But Yuuri couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel anything but the trembling, sinking sensation of Victor fucking him so deeply. He could tell Victor was close, too. He could feel his cock pulsing, like a second heart and the heat was building. Setting Yuuri’s soul on fire, burning down his walls.  
  
But Victor wouldn’t come until Yuuri did. So Yuuri begged, unashamed by the mewling whines that slipped out between the words as Yuuri pleaded with Victor to let him come, _please please let me come, Victor!_

 _  
_ Victor wrapped a strong hand around Yuuri’s cock, finger slipping easy with the lubrication of the condom and Yuuri started to buck manically into his fist, clashing against Victor’s hips in a staccato beat of hot skin and sloppy sex.  
  
Yuuri came shouting Victor’s name, like he had every time they’d been together and Victor thrust into his loose and spent body a few more, erratic times before he was coming, too. Yuuri felt the warmth bloom inside him, Victor’s thick length pulsing inside and wondered not for the first time how good it might feel if Victor hadn’t been wearing a condom.  
  
Victor collapsed down onto Yuuri’s chest, crushing the wet of Yuuri’s come between them and Yuuri groaned at the sensation. Victor dropped Yuuri’s legs, letting them fall heavy either side of his sculpted hips and Yuuri hummed in approval as Victor mouthed at his skin, moving up to suck at the hollow of his throat. Yuuri’s throat was already destroyed, red in places and purple in others. When admiring them in the mirror, Yuuri felt like he had Victor’s _Eros_ and _Stay Close to Me_ dancing around each other in a spreading collection of bites and bruises. He couldn’t look at them without thinking of the beautiful fabric that covered Victor’s body when he skated. Yuuri wished he could skate with Victor’s mark on him for everyone to see.  
  
He wanted to keep them there forever.  
  
Victor pulled out of Yuuri with a careful shift, both of them sighing at the sensitivity as Victor carefully pulled off the condom, tying it lazily before he tossed it somewhere off the bed. Before Yuuri could manage a scold for such disgusting behaviour, Victor was moving to do the same with Yuuri’s and Yuuri was too spent to stop him.  
  
‘Your room must be a mess,’ Yuuri said, smiling and closing his eyes while Victor fished around with a towel that had been left at the end of the bed from one of their showers the night before and using it to wipe at the mess they’d made between them.  
  
‘I assure you, my home is of quality standards,’ Victor replied, all charm and Yuuri cracked open an eye to see Victor’s trademark smirk staring back at him. Yuuri snorted, running a hand over his face and stretching across the ruined hotel bed.  
  
‘I bet you have a maid.’  
  
'I’m quite capable of cleaning up after myself.’  
  
‘Hmm, sure,’ Yuuri joked, completely unconvinced by the image of Victor Nikiforov running around the apartment with an apron and bright yellow gloves. The very idea had him laughing. ‘Who knew you were such a homemaker?’  
  
‘I can fold towels into swans,’ Victor proclaimed proudly, draping himself across Yuuri’s cooling body. His hair flared out across Yuuri’s skin like spilled starlight from where he lay his head on Yuuri’s chest and Yuuri caught his breath for a moment, before he tentatively reached a hand out and started to card his fingers through it. Victor sighed happily.  
  
‘Wow, you are talented. No wonder you’re a worldwide champion,’ Yuuri teased, loving Victor’s petulant grunt as he poked a long finger into Yuuri’s stomach in protest.  
  
‘You shouldn’t talk to clients that way,’ Victor threw back and Yuuri flushed at the reminder, stomach twisting nervously. ‘You tease, but I promise you that my swans look quite handsome on the guest bed.’  
  
Yuuri nodded, afraid to say anything as the reality of everything crept in around him. It felt like sinking beneath the surface of cool water, getting colder and colder the deeper you fell. And Yuuri was falling.  
  
They didn’t say anything for a long while and Yuuri knew they had to move soon. They had to shower and come evening, Victor would have to start getting ready to leave for the airport. Yuuri’s heart picked up in his chest, already grieving the familiar weight on top of him and he brought his other hand up to seek one of Victor’s. Their hands laced together, Victor bringing Yuuri’s hand up to his lips and kissing his knuckles.  
  
‘I can show you, if you like,’ Victor said quietly and Yuuri had to think back for a moment to remember what exactly they had been talking about.  
  
‘The towels?’ he asked, confused.  
  
Victor sat up, looking Yuuri straight in the eye. The blue of them was molten, swirling colour and Yuuri felt himself gasp quietly as he looked into them. Victor tightened his grip on Yuuri’s fingers, legs sliding over Yuuri’s to pin him even further to the bed. Victor really was quite tall.  
  
‘Come to Russia,’ Victor asked, face stern and Yuuri looked away from the strength of his gaze, cheeks burning. ‘With me. Please.’  
  
Oh.  
  
‘I shouldn’t,’ Yuuri whispered, suddenly feeling very large. Like he was taking up too much space, like there was nowhere for him to hide.  
  
Victor said nothing, but he tugged on Yuuri’s hand gently until he turned to look at him again.  
  
‘Your website says you offer overnight getaways,’ he said, tone kind but it was alien to hear Victor bring up Yuuri’s website. Yuuri nodded, thinking of weekends in the Maldives. A quick mid-week break in Toronto. Victor smiled, leaning on his arm so he was closer to Yuuri, his breath skimming across Yuuri’s cheeks. ‘Would you consider it?’  
  
‘Um,’ Yuuri said before swallowing nervously.  
  
‘Please?’  
  
Yuuri stared into Victor’s eyes, looked at his sweat-frizzed hair and pink cheeks. His breath hollowed him out as it fell out of him, heart stuttering. Yuuri liked Victor so much. Had done, for so long and now Victor wanted Yuuri to come to Russia.  
  
Last time Yuuri was in Russia he had been with Victor, too. The Yuuri of that Grand Prix in Sochi would never believe the twist fate would have in store for him later. Would never believe the mess he’d manage to get himself into.  
  
‘I’ll think about it,’ Yuuri answered but when Victor leaned down and kissed him, Yuuri could only think one thing.  
  
_Yes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byt’ ostorozhen - be careful  
> Etot slishkom sladkiy dlya vas - he's too soft for you  
> Net, bliad’ - no, whore  
> Ya ne budu govorit' po-angliyski. Ty ne zasluzhivayesh' etogo - I will not speak English. You don't deserve it.
> 
>  
> 
> Lads, have you ever tried to talk to a drunk person when you're sober? It's just... so hard.
> 
> Also editing this monster almost killed me. And no, lucycamui and I did not break up, I just wouldn't make her wait for me to upload ;) How could we hold that adorable chapter back? 
> 
> UPDATES: This story usually updates every 7-8 days. However, due to my dissertation being due in the next two weeks, updates will be pushed to fortnightly until April 7th. I hope you all forgive me. I know I'm a bad author, I'm sorry.
> 
> So next update should be between the 28th/29th of March.


	10. Divide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they break up.

‘So, they’ll be launching an internal investigation. Just to get through the red tape,’ Robert said, cutting through his steak with practiced ease. Yuuri watched him, only half-listening as he poked at his salad idly. The steak bloomed blood on the plate. ‘Thorton’s really gunning for it. Never knew how to spot a lost cause, that one.’

‘Hmm,’ Yuuri hummed, popping some lobster into his mouth.  
  
The restaurant was on the sixteenth floor of the MotorCity. The evening was cool outside, clouds rolling in waves over the rooftops of Detroit. It was bound to snow soon, Yuuri had thought before leaving the apartment that evening. His appointment with Robert had passed in a strange daze, thoughts continuously drifting. Yuuri twirled his fork, staring out into the sky. The room was lit in purples and reds, everything the same as it ever was when Yuuri worked, but all Yuuri could focus on was the dying light of the sun through the sprawling windows of the restaurant.  
  
He wondered what time it was in St. Petersburg. Whether or not it was already snowing.  
  
Yuuri had booked his flight to Moscow that morning for the weekend of the Rostelecom Cup. He still hadn’t replied to Victor’s email inquiring whether or not Yuuri had even accepted the invitation or even told Phichit of the whole situation yet. The most Phichit knew was that Yuuri had spent the entirety of last weekend with Victor, teasing him mercilessly once he’d returned from the Westin late on Sunday evening.  
  
‘You’re so gone,’ Phichit had teased. Yuuri had told him to shut up and get some sleep before training in the morning.  
  
Not that Phichit would be capable of providing much guidance anyway, as he was currently in Mississauga for Skate Canada. Yuuri was hardly going to distract him now, it wouldn’t be fair.  
  
As for why Yuuri hadn’t told Victor yet he’d decided to go to Moscow, Yuuri was still unsure. It felt like- surrender, almost. Not quite defeat, but certainly not far off it either.  
  
Yuuri looked down at his food, stomach suddenly twisted with anxiety. He didn’t know what he thought he was giving up either. But there was something about Victor… Or more specifically, how Yuuri felt about Victor, that was causing Yuuri to hesitate.  
  
He’d been away with clients before. Admittedly never as far as Russia, but the sentiment was still the same. Or it should be. But the more Yuuri thought about taking that step across the Atlantic towards Victor, the more something cold began to settle in his mind. Yuuri had tried to push it from his thoughts, had tried to focus on the logistics. Wrote down a payment plan for Victor, drafted a checklist for his flight- but Yuuri still hadn’t committed to anything.  
  
Deep down, no matter how much Yuuri wanted to ignore it, the hope that Victor had really asked him to come to Russia because Victor simply _wanted_ him there stuck like a splinter. It created cracks in the truth Yuuri should know. The truth that Victor was a client with an obscene amount of money and apparently not much else to spend it on other than whatever had taken his fancy.  
  
It just so happened that what had taken Victor’s fancy at the moment was Yuuri. Well, not _Yuuri._ Not really. Yuuri needed to remember that.

But it was hard to do so when all Yuuri could think of was the way Victor held him when he had been sick. The way Victor’s lips felt across the back of his neck and the curve of his fingers deep inside him, stroking parts of him that felt new under the attention. Like Yuuri had been starving for something without knowing until Victor was drowning him in it.  
  
Yuuri wanted that feeling. Or more so, he wanted it to be real. And that was more dangerous than any trip itself.  
  
‘So I'll be in New York on the sixth to oversee a merger,’ Robert said, a little louder and bringing Yuuri’s thoughts back to him. Yuuri turned from the window to face him and motioned with his glass for Robert to continue. ‘Staying in Soho. Terrible food, all this gluten-free nonsense. But the after-party sounds promising. Champagne and suits in Manhattan.’

Yuuri waited and Robert smiled, charming as always.

‘Wanna come?’

‘I'm afraid I can't that weekend,’ Yuuri said, smiling apologetically as Robert considered him over his glass of whiskey.

‘Oh? Got a better offer?’ Robert replied, charming smile and raised eyebrow. ‘Here I was thinking I’m your favourite.’

‘You are my favourite,’ Yuuri lied easily, laughing softly and adjusting his glasses.  ‘I'll be in Moscow.’

‘Moscow?’ Robert repeated, looking genuinely surprised. He inclined his head with a low whistle. ‘Who's got you trekking halfway across the world? Hope he tips.’

‘It's not like that,’ Yuuri said quietly, because it was true and he felt the strange urge to defend his plans with Victor. Though he was not entirely sure why. What Yuuri did and who with was none of Rober't business. Yuuri fiddled with his glass of water, fingers slipping on the condensation. He thought of Victor's face. The way his wrists bent when he skated. ‘I’m going for myself.’

‘Alone?’ Robert asked, interested. Yuuri flushed.

‘Ah, no.’

A beat of silence passed.

‘I'll be damned,’ Robert said teasingly after watching Yuuri for a moment. He took another sip of his whiskey. ‘Look at you.’

Yuuri raised his glass of water, desperately willing for his blush to go down. He cast his gaze across the restaurant, taking in the low lights and orange candles. Tried to ignore Robert watching him, amused. Which was hard, as now Robert was chuckling deeply. The moment made Yuuri feel strangely uneasy.

‘So, who's dragging you to Moscow?’

‘He's not dragging me,’ Yuuri said, eyes flicking up under his lashes to look at Robert. Robert gave him a raised eyebrow in return.

‘Fair enough,’ Robert said after a moment and for some reason, Yuuri felt like the air between them had chilled. Before he could say anything though, Robert asked; ‘So what kind of job has this guy flying to Russia?’

‘He is Russian,’ Yuuri said coolly. Robert made a surprised noise between a laugh and his sip of whiskey.

‘You're shacking up with a _Russkiy?!’_

Yuuri gave Robert what he hoped was a very disapproving look. Robert laughed again, waving a hand across the table as Yuuri put his fork down to consider Robert properly.  
  
‘That’s not very funny,’ Yuuri said, tone coming out a little more chiding than he intended. However, this only served to make Robert laugh a little louder ar him.  
  
‘It’s a joke, kid. Of course it’s funny,’ he said, shaking his head with his charming smile catching the purple light. Robert looked at Yuuri over the table, dark eyes twinkling and cheeks a touch red from the whiskey. ‘Though you’ll fit in straight away in Russia with that serious face of yours.’  
  
‘You’re terrible,’ Yuuri admonished with a smile, taking a sip of water but feeling the knot of nerves that had twisted inside him loosen slightly at the jest.  
  
‘So,’ Robert said at length, picking his knife and fork up again. ‘Do I get to hear anything about this new boyfriend? He better looking than me?’  
  
Yuuri choked on his water.  
  
Robert waited patiently for Yuuri to try and compose himself. Which was difficult, as Yuuri could feel the heat on his face as keenly as the water he was coughing up. That incessant, niggling disappointment that always followed Yuuri around when he was reminded that he and Victor were _not_ like that came back in full force, washing over him in sobering waves.  
  
‘It’s not- we’re not. We’re not,’ Yuuri stammered, trying to sound more put together than he felt as his heart beat quicken treacherously in his chest. Yuuri ran a hand over his hair, tapping a leg nervously under the table. He had a to get a grip of himself. He was with a client, for goodness sake. A proper one, too.  
  
(Not that Victor wasn't  _proper_ _,_ but he was... different).  
  
‘Sure,’ Robert laughed, sounding extremely disbelieving. Yuuri bit his lip, nervous. He didn’t want to discuss Victor with anyone, especially not another client. He could barely think about it himself. This was too much.  
  
Robert was not his friend, after all.   
  
Taking a steady breath, Yuuri thought of the envelope in his bag. Thought of the fit of his black shirt, more masculine than usual as he and Robert were out. He looked at Robert’s body language, the silver of the fork. This was work. Yuuri’s work. Work he was good at, work he enjoyed. Everything that had led to this moment had been carefully planned out. But just the thought of Victor threatened to disrupt that balance in Yuuri’s head.  
  
Like Yuuri was still water and Victor was a storm, blowing through him and throwing him into waves.  
  
Victor had gotten beneath Yuuri’s skin and worse than that, Yuuri knew he had invited him in. Yuuri tried to remind himself of all of this, attempting to remind himself that everything that had happened had only do so because Yuuri had allowed it.  
  
But it was very difficult. As it felt like everything in his body, even his own heart, was beating towards the edge of sacrificing that control to Victor. It was terrifying. It was… wonderful.  
  
Yuuri hadn’t felt desire for something in so long. The closest he usually came was the longing he got when he watched Phichit perform on the ice. But this was very different to that. What Yuuri felt when he was with Victor was something much deeper, much more selfish. It was the strange cocktail of knowing Victor would break his heart if he let it continue and Yuuri _wanting_ him to.  
  
He wanted the feel of Victor’s skin in the morning and the way he laughed when he was surprised. Yuuri wanted the silver strands that stuck to his clothes after he’d left Victor’s bed and he wanted to be the one Victor skated for. Perhaps more than anything, Yuuri wanted that. Yuuri closed his eyes to the restaurant, to Robert’s face and he thought of the rink in the night- the blue light, the sound of Victor’s skates and the way Victor’s face fell open when he lost himself to the movement.  
  
It made Yuuri ache in a way he didn’t know he was capable of.  
  
Victor had already broken Yuuri’s heart once and he didn’t even know it. How could Yuuri deny him when he offered to break it again so sweetly? Besides, it’s not like Victor would ever know. It was Yuuri’s secret.  
  
Yuuri was good at secrets.  
  
After dinner, Robert walked Yuuri to his cab. He had a hand resting on Yuuri’s lower back, but it felt intrusive in way it never had before. Yuuri tried to hold himself steady, despite the need to pull away tugging inside him. Instead, Yuuri just crossed his arms, holding them to his chest as Robert flagged a cab down from outside the hotel.  
  
There was something off about the whole evening and only now, as Robert trailed his arm slowly across Yuuri's body did he realise what it was. Yuuri didn't want Robert to touch him, not anymore. Not anywhere. It hadn't even crossed his mind earlier the evening, where if he had suddenly felt this way then it would have most _definitely_ been a problem. But in the quiet of the street, with the sound of passing traffic and the promise of snow, Yuuri felt strangely disconnected. He didn't want moments like this with anyone but Victor. Yuuri wanted Victor to be the one who guided him, the one who held him and promised him safe home.   
  
Yuuri let out a long, low breath, realising too late that he was shaking. That was- not good. Definitely not good.  
  
‘Enjoy Moscow, kid,’ Robert said as the cab pulled to the curb. Yuuri smiled weakly, unable to muster up a proper one and slipping his hands into the pockets of his peacoat, just to prevent Robert from touching him any further. Robert regarded Yuuri with a small smile, eyes creased with something. As Yuuri went for the door, Robert spoke; ‘You know, if you want something, _really_ want something, you only get it if you ask.’  
  
Yuuri’s mouth dropped open, surprised. Robert laughed, the sound now so familiar to Yuuri. Yuuri stared at him, unable to speak as some part of his head was definitely spinning the theory that Robert could somehow read his mind. Which of course he couldn’t… Right? No, that’d be insane-  
  
Robert raised a hand to Yuuri’s face, holding his chin between two calloused fingers and stopping Yuuri’s spiraling thoughts in their tracks. The movement reminded Yuuri so vividly of Victor that he had to resist the urge to recoil from the touch. Instead, Yuuri closed his mouth and counted his own breaths as Robert watched him carefully.  
  
‘I’m old, kid. But I ain’t dumb,’ Robert said, the words billowing white between them in the cool air. ‘You like this guy?’  
  
‘Ahh,’ Yuuri hissed quietly between his teeth, not wanting to admit to anything. But he could feel his cheeks light up. Traitors.  
  
‘Then go to Moscow,’ Robert said, running a thumb over Yuuri’s bottom lip before pulling away entirely. ‘Don’t come back either. If that’s what you want. Being young is for doing things like that.’  
  
‘You’re not that old,’ Yuuri said, feebly trying to regain some of the flirty banter that had used to be so effortless between them. Robert smirked, bending down to open the door of the cab.  
  
‘I’m too old for you,’ Robert said, gesturing for Yuuri to get into the backseat. Yuuri didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing, gracefully folding himself into the cab. Robert bent down, looking into the dark space as Yuuri looked at him right back. ‘Do you know what you want, kid?’  
  
Unbidden, one word came to mind. _Victor._

Slowly, Yuuri nodded. Robert put a hand out and it took Yuuri a moment to realise what he was doing. Yuuri reached out, taking Robert’s hand and let Robert shake it. Like the end of a very mannerful business agreement. Perhaps it was.  
  
‘Then go get it.’

* * *

  
Phichit threw his arms up in the final position as the music ended, resounding echoes across the stadium. For one, brief second there was nothing but the sound of his own breathing but suddenly the rink erupted into noise, almost deafening. Phichit sank to his knees, cold and wet barely registering through the heat of his body.  
  
Looking over to the kiss-and-cry, he spotted Celestino holding his phone aloft and smiling so broadly it looked like it was might break him. Phichit grinned back, happiness exploding inside him. _He’d done it!_  
  
One he was off the rink, Celestino lifted Phichit up into his arms and spun him around.  
  
_‘Belíssimo!’_ Celestino cried, curly hair spinning right into Phichit’s mouth. Sputtering, Phichit tried to disentangle himself as he caught the faint sound of someone talking over the phone. When he was safely back on the ground, only trembling slightly with the adrenaline, Phichit scrambled for his phone from Celestino’s hand.

‘Yuuri!’ Phichit said, putting the phone to his ear and listening to his friend cheer from the other end.  
  
‘Phichit, you were amazing!’ Yuuri said down the line as Phichit waved cheerily to the cameras that were flashing off to the side. ‘You did Thailand proud! You did _me_ proud! You’re going to take the Grand Prix no problem! Is Ciao-Ciao happy?’  
  
Phichit grinned, face hot with exertion and body shaking as Celestino threw his jersey over him as they both made their way towards the bench for the announcement of the scores. He looked over at Celestino, who was beaming brightly as he too waved at the cameras.  
  
‘Yeah? You think so?’ Phichit said, a little out of breath. Yuuri laughed, saying _of course I do!_ Phichit ran a hand over his face, wiping the sweat. ‘Think I could give Victor a run for his exceptionally large amount of money?’  
  
Yuuri snorted, very unattractively and Phichit felt extremely pleased at hearing it.  
  
‘Very clever,’ Yuuri replied and Phichit could hear the smile. It made his chest warm in a way that Yuuri always managed to. He imagined Yuuri sitting at home, streaming Skate Canada through the obscenely large television Yuuri had bought for them. A very early Christmas present, Yuuri had called it when it had been delivered.   
  
‘If he takes another _holiday_ , maybe he’ll be too tired out to see me coming? What you think?’  
  
‘Ugh, please stop!’  
_  
_ Phichit laughed, only complaining a little when Celestino took the phone from him as they sat on the bench.  
  
‘Talk to Yuuri after,’ Celestino said, though he was still smiling so brightly that it did little to make Phichit take him seriously. Phichit sat down on the bench, closing his jersey properly and listening out for the score.  
  
_‘Chulanont finished fourth in his first event in Skate America! Today could possibly be his first victory! If he wins here, it will put him on the cusp of being the first Thai skater to advance to the Grand Prix Final!_ _  
__  
__His combined score is 285.76! That’s his top score of the season and gives him the lead over Leroy for the time being!’_ _  
__  
_ ‘I hope you’ll all root for me at the Grand Prix Final!’ Phichit said, throwing a peace sign to the camera as Celestino chastised him for being cocky. But Phichit couldn’t help it. Almost perfect his performance had been. He was currently in first place! It would have to be really something for someone at the Rostelecom Cup to throw him off this close to the final.  
  
Phichit took the phone back once they all made their way back to the cool-down room. Yuuri congratulated him again, scolded him for mocking Victor, (typical!) and told Phichit to call him the minute he landed back in Detroit. Phichit promised he would before hanging up, immediately going to Snapchat to take a celebratory selfie.  
  
‘Hey, Phichit!’  
  
Turning to see a very excited Guang-Hong, Phichit barely had time to say hello before said Guang-Hong barrelled into him, almost knocking them both to the floor. This was becoming a habit. Not that Phichit could really do anything but laugh along as Guang-Hong blushed brightly, mumbling a quick apology and another hello.  
  
‘You were so great!’ Guang-Hong said and Phichit felt himself blush despite everything.  
  
‘Thanks, guy! Wanna be in my Snapchat?’ Phichit asked, tilting his phone as Guang-Hong nodded enthusiastically.  
  
Phichit held the phone up, taking a quick snap. It looked brilliant, of course. Guang-Hong had such good skin tone, they didn’t even need a filter! Phichit quickly saved to camera roll. That was photo was too nice. Totally going on Instagram as well.  
  
‘Hey!’  
  
The loud call came from the other side of the room and Phichit turned to see Jean-Jacques Leroy, of all people, waving at himself and Guang-Hong. Guang-Hong made a small squeaking noise, tucking in closer to Phichit, who still had an arm around him from the selfie. Leroy made his way across the room, waving a long arm at them. The purple sequins of his costume caught the light, winking like Leroy himself as he approached.   
  
‘Chulanont, right?’ Leroy said, coming up to Phichit and standing before him with his hands on his hips. Phichit looked up at him, suddenly very self-conscious of his height.  
  
‘Um, yep,’ Phichit replied, Guang-Hong looking between them both. Leroy stuck out a hand and Phichit looked at it, taking in Leroy’s long, olive fingers before reaching out and taking it, intending to shake. But instead, Leroy pulled Phichit forward, other hand reaching out for Guang-Hong.  
  
‘You were hardly going to take a selfie at Skate Canada without the King himself, were you?’ Leroy teased, placing himself between Phichit and Guang-Hong. Phichit, confused, just shrugged and held his phone up, trying to get all three of them in the frame.  
  
‘Alright, then. Smile!’  
  
Leroy smiled like he skated- full wattage and looking at himself. Phichit made a mental note to tell Yuuri that later, because that was hilarious. Phichit started to upload the photo to his Instagram, selecting the best feature that didn’t turn all their varying skin tones some level of blue. Leroy watched, his blue eyes sparkling. He really was quite good-looking, not that Phichit was going to admit that to the guy’s face. Going by Leroy’s own Instagram, he thought so enough as it was.  
  
That was probably a little mean. Yuuri would likely scold Phichit for that one.  
  
‘Give us a look?’ Leroy asked, already reaching for Phichit’s phone before Phichit even had a chance to say _sure._ Not that he minded too much. Phichit was proud of his Instagram. Leroy scrolled through, eyebrows together in a look of concentration as he did so. Phichit looked up at him, before glancing to Guang-Hong, who just shrugged, looking equally confused.  
  
Then, Leroy clicked his tongue. He turned the phone, smile on his face, though it looked a little forced if Phichit was being honest.  
  
‘Who’s this? Your boyfriend? He looks nice,’ Leroy said with a tease, turning the phone to show Phichit the selfie he’d taken with Yuuri on the day they moved apartment. Guang-Hong laughed when he saw it and Phichit rubbed the back of his neck, a little sheepish.  
  
‘Ah, no. The _bf_ is for best-friend,’ Phichit said, reaching out for his phone which Leroy did give back to him immediately. Leroy looked down at Phichit with his eyes a little narrowed. Phichit shifted under the scrutiny, not used to it in general and certainly not from Jean-Jacques Leroy of all people. ‘That’s Yuuri. He’s my roommate.’  
  
‘I thought his name was Eros,’ Guang-Hong piped in, big eyes creased in confusion.  
  
Phichit froze. Fuck!  
  
‘Ah-ah, well, um, that’s a- you know, a nickname!’ Phichit stuttered, completely panicking. He’d completely forgotten Guang-Hong knew Yuuri as Eros. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Leroy looked between them, something like but not quite amusement on his face as he did so. ‘A nickname, yeah! Eros is his nickname.’  
  
The word _nickname_ was beginning to lose all meaning and Guang-Hong was looking at Phichit now like he’d grown a second head in his panic. Maybe with any luck, Phichit had actually grown as such so that when Yuuri bit his own one off he might survive.  
  
‘I just thought his parents hated him,’ Guang-Hong said quietly as Phichit closed his phone and tried to shove the thing in his pocket, some insane part of his brain worried he might accidentally call Yuuri and have Yuuri hear this entire nightmare conversation. ‘I don’t know if it being a nickname is worse or better.’  
  
‘Well, you know how it is?’ Phichit said, knowing that such a sentence made absolutely no sense and clearly Guang-Hong agreed with him, going by the tilt of the boy's head. Phichit threw a thumb over his shoulder. ‘I’m going to get a drink of water!’  
  
‘I’ll go with you!’ Leroy announced and Phichit just contained his groan as they both made their way over to the water station in the far corner. Leroy fidgeted a little as he walked. Maybe he was cold without his jersey? Phichit said nothing as they made their way and soon they were both standing awkwardly at the table.  
  
‘So, does your friend skate?’  
  
‘No,’ Phichit said, wondering just how mad Yuuri would be if he found out he’d spilled his real name. Hopefully not all that mad. The skating community was _miles_ away from what Yuuri did anyway. Well, Victor Nikiforov excluded. ‘He likes skating though. Follows the competitions and stuff.’  
  
‘Well, if he’s a fan let him know I say hi,’ Leroy said and that nervous smile was back. Phichit wasn’t sure what that smile meant. ‘What does your friend do then?’  
  
‘Finance,’ Phichit answered automatically and Leroy made a small hum of acknowledgement.  
  
‘Yikes. Sounds boring,’ Leroy said, but his eyes drifted off across the room. ‘Be sure to cheer him up with some skating stories, you know?’  
  
Leroy was famous for not making too much effort with other skaters. Not Victor Nikiforov levels of indifferent, which until Skate America had been pretty impressive. But for Leroy to suddenly just introduce himself, to Phichit of all people? Maybe this was a sign that Phichit really had a chance at the Grand Prix. Victor had ulterior motives for wanting to get to know Phichit. (Which Phichit was totally fine with, because now he had _Victor freaking Nikiforov_ following his Instagram, how wild was that?). But Leroy? What motive could he possibly have other than wanting to know Phichit as a skater?  
  
The thought was deeply complimentary.  
  
‘I’ll be sure to show him our selfie,’ Phichit replied, reaching out and taking a long sip from the nearest water bottle. Leroy watched him for a moment, fidgeting again. Weird, Phichit thought. He always looked so confident in his photos and Snapchats.  
  
‘You’re friends with Victor Nikiforov, right?’ Leroy asked at last and Phichit paused in his drinking, confused.  
  
‘Um. I wouldn’t say we’re _friends,_ but we got on well at Skate America,’ Phichit said carefully, unsure how much he could say without hinting at Yuuri. Phichit really, really didn’t want to get into anymore trouble.  
  
And he definitely didn’t want Yuuri or Victor to get into trouble either.  
  
‘Do you think he’s a good guy?’ Leroy asked and the question was so odd, Phichit asked Leroy to repeat himself.  
  
‘He seems nice, yeah,’ Phichit answered, deeply confused by the turn of the conversation. ‘Why? Do you guys not get on?’  
  
‘Well, we’re true rivals. Victor and I,’ Leroy said, puffing his chest out and it was the closest to the cocky confidence Phichit knew from Youtube and Snapchat. ‘We don’t have to get on. I was just wondering, you know. If he could help you, if you needed it.’  
  
Right. Whatever _that_ meant.  
  
‘Okay. Well, I think my coach is looking for me,’ Phichit said, pointing in a vague direction with absolutely no knowledge of where Celestino was. As he went to leave, Leroy put a hand on Phichit’s shoulder.  
  
‘If you _do_ need any help at this season, let me know,’ Leroy said, suddenly looking very serious. Phichit didn’t say anything, confused and feeling quite uneasy now. Phichit tried to smile brightly, but it was difficult.  
  
‘Okay. Um, thanks!’  
  
As Phichit made his way towards Celestino, who was already boasting about how Phichit was going to attempt a quad in his free-skate should he get to the Grand Prix, he looked back over his shoulder towards Leroy. Leroy was now in the arms of his fiancée, (the announcement had been _everywhere_ and Phichit recognised her instantly). He was smiling that camera-ready smile again, teeth unnervingly white as they waited for him to be called to the ice.  
  
Whatever, Phichit thought, shaking the encounter from his mind. Anyone who betted a marriage on a gold medal of all the crazy things in the world was probably bound to be a bit mental. And besides, what Leroy had offered was actually quite nice, really. If weird. So weird.  
  
But Phichit wasn’t going to begrudge the guy for wanting to help. After all, who was he to turn down someone being nice? 

 

* * *

 

 **  
To:** vnikiforov@gmail.com  
**From:**[e.detroit@e.detroit.](mailto:e.detroit@e.detroit.com)us  
**Subject:** Moscow Nov6-8th  
  
Dear Victor,

  
I accept your invitation to Moscow. I’ll be on flight number BAW135 and arriving in Moscow on Friday November 6th, at approximately 3:45pm Russia time.  
  
Could you please send me the details of where you’d like me to stay? If not, I can arrange my own accommodation.  
  
Would you be adverse to arranging payment for after the engagement? I would like time to work out an appropriate rate and payment plan. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I understand if you’d like to pay upfront. But I would prefer if we could arrange for after.  
  
Best regards,  
E.

* * *

 _1新しいメッセージ - V_ _  
_ _  
_ **14:55PM** _Any rules you like, Yuuri. I just want to see you. <3 I’d like you to stay in my hotel, but of course you don’t have to! Anywhere you like, anywhere you’re comfortable. I’m sorry we won’t get a chance to get to St. Petersburg, I’d have loved to introduce you to Makkachin! But I promise you, Moscow is just as beautiful this time of year. _ _  
_ _  
_ **14:58PM** I’m looking forward to it. Very much.  
  
**14:58PM** _I can’t wait to see you, Yuuri. There's so much I want to show you._

 

* * *

 

‘Phichit!’ Yuuri said as he walked out of the Planned Parenthood, jumping when he spotted Phichit standing outside. He looked Phichit up and down, spotting his suitcase. He pulled down his surgical mask. ‘You came straight here? You didn’t have to!’  
  
‘Of course I did!’ Phichit said as he pulled down his own mask. He walked up to Yuuri and hugged him tightly. ‘Why do you think I asked you where you were?’  
  
‘You ask me all sorts of things. I just sort of roll with it,’ Yuuri replied, hugging Phichit back. He was wearing the brown coat that Phichit hated, so it was a little awkward but Phichit didn’t care. He was so glad to see Yuuri. Even if he looked terrible with his messy hair and lumpy jeans.  
  
Phichit looked great. Skinny jeans and his favourite red parka, topped off with a nice grey beanie. Even managed some eyeliner before the flight and it had stuck beautifully. If Phichit could make an effort, than Yuuri had no excuse really. Phichit poked Yuuri in the stomach, pointing out his hideous brown jacket. Yuuri rolled his eyes at it.  
  
‘That’s fair!’ Phichit said, releasing Yuuri and giving him a once over. ‘All good?’  
  
‘Just routine check-up. I’m fine,’ Yuuri answered, smiling and leading Phichit away from the clinic and down the street. Phichit followed, tugging his suitcase behind him where it jostled noisily along the uneven path. ‘Where’s Ciao-Ciao? Happy with your silver?’  
  
‘Bed, probably. He celebrated a bit too much last night. The flight definitely didn’t help,’ Phichit said as they walked, listening to Yuuri laugh. Phichit spied the plastic bag Yuuri was carrying. He raised an eyebrow, before reaching out and snatching the bag right out of Yuuri’s gloved hands.  
  
‘Phi-!’  
  
‘Did they give you a goodie-bag?’ Phichit teased, opening the bag with one hand and holding Yuuri off with the other as they stopped to squabble. In the bag there was indeed a collection of items, but most important of them was a box of condoms. A _large_ box of condoms. Phichit looked at Yuuri, delighted. Yuuri groaned. ‘Oh my god, they actually gave you a goodie-bag.’  
  
‘You’re the worst,’ Yuuri sighed, giving up and letting Phichit keep the bag. Phichit fished his phone out of his pocket, opening Snapchat. He took a quick picture, to Yuuri’s protest and added a smirk emoji with the tagline _My friend gets all the best swag._  
  
‘Yeah, but you love me,’ Phichit said, giving the bag back and starting to walk again. Yuuri followed, grumbling a little with the top of his ears turning red.  
  
As they walked, Phichit told Yuuri his stories from Skate Canada. Most of which Yuuri knew already, as Phichit had been updating him constantly whenever Celestino had let Phichit keep his phone. Phichit complained that Yuuri would see a lot more if he got an Instagram, but Yuuri brushed him off as always. They turned the corner, heading closer to home and laughing as Phichit began to tell the story of Jean-Jacque Leroy suddenly deciding to be friends.  
  
‘He doesn’t seem too bad,’ Yuuri said as Phichit showed him the selfie they had taken together. Phichit shrugged as they turned onto 2nd Avenue.  
  
‘I suppose. But you haven’t met him. It’s an experience,’ Phichit and Yuuri hummed softly in response, brown eyes moving along the street. ‘Warned me off being friends with your boyfriend.’  
  
‘Who? Victor?’

‘Aha!’ Phichit cried, extremely pleased as Yuuri stammered as he realised what he’d said. ‘So you admit it!’  
  
‘That was a trap and you know it,’ Yuuri whined, shaking his head as they walked along. Then he fell silent, eyes wandering as Phichit tried to show him the rest of his Skate Canada roll.  
  
Phichit put his phone away, watching Yuuri as he bit his bottom lip in thought. Phichit gave Yuuri about fifteen seconds, (which was very generous, mind), before he gave in; ‘Alright. What is it?’  
  
‘Hmm? What’s what?’ Yuuri said distractedly, tucking his chin down into his scarf. Phichit rolled his eyes and punched Yuuri’s shoulder lightly.  
  
‘You. What’s up with you? You were barely listening to me,’ Phichit said, watching as Yuuri’s nose went pink. Phichit waited as Yuuri frowned behind his glasses, waited for Yuuri to try and figure out what he wanted to say. Phichit knew patience was the only way to get what you wanted from Katsuki Yuuri.  
  
Lots and lots _and lots_ of patience. Phichit hoped Victor Nikiforov had it by the bucketful.   
  
‘Well,’ Yuuri said at length and Phichit had to resist the _I knew it!_ that threatened to erupt out of him. Yuuri looked at Phichit, then away again. ‘There’s something I have to tell you.’  
  
‘Uh-oh,’ Phichit said, only half-joking as going by the last _something_ Yuuri had to tell him, Phichit felt like he should prepare for anything. What was it now? Yuuri fiddled with something in his pocket. ‘What is it this time? Did you kill someone?’  
  
Yuuri balked, squeaking as he shook his head. ‘No, no! It’s nothing too bad. Not really.’  
  
Okay, now Phichit was starting to worry.  
  
‘Yuuri,’ Phichit said carefully as they approached the entrance to their apartment block. ‘What have you done?’  
  
_‘VictorinvitedmetoRussiafortheRostelecomCup,’_ Yuuri muttered, eyes squeezed shut. Phichit blinked, not catching a single word other than _Victor._

‘What?’  
  
Yuuri sighed. ‘Victor. He’s invited me to Moscow to spend the Rostelecom Cup with him.’  
  
_‘What?!’_ _  
_ _  
_ Phichit froze, barely registering Yuuri anymore as those words sunk in.  
  
‘So. Last week, Victor flew across the Atlantic to see you. And now he wants you to do exactly the same thing to see him?’ Phichit asked, wanting to be sure. Yuuri blushed again as he fumbled to get his keys out his pocket.  
  
‘He said he wanted me to watch him skate at the Rostelecom Cup,’ Yuuri said quietly, walking up the entrance and letting Phichit follow him. Phichit thought about that for a moment.  
  
‘He wants you to watch him skate. Victor Nikiforov? _Your_ Victor Nikiforov?’  
  
‘He’s not mine-'  
  
‘So he still doesn’t know about how you literally stalk him, never mind watch him skate anyway?’ Phichit said and Yuuri whined pathetically. ‘Or does he and is this his way of telling you that he’s totally cool with that? Because I know he’s extra but this is a bit extreme, Yuuri.’  
  
‘Phichit,’ Yuuri whimpered as he held the door open for Phichit to walk into the foyer, suitcase hopping off the step. ‘Don't be stupid. Of course not.’

‘You still haven't told him?’ Phichit said incredulously as Yuuri shut the door with a definite snap. ‘Yuuri, you can’t keep that up. It isn’t fair.’  
  
‘I don’t tell clients about my life, Phichit,’ Yuuri said sternly as they made their way to lift. Phichit scoffed before he could stop himself.  
  
‘Are you actually going to try and tell me you think Victor is like every other client?’ Phichit got his answer in Yuuri’s red face and the way his eyes refused to meet Phichit’s own. ‘Why did he invite you to Russia?’  
  
‘I told you. To see him skate,’ Yuuri said, pushing the call button for the lift with more force than was necessary. Phichit could see Yuuri was tensing up, could see the nervousness budding inside him. But Phichit didn’t want to back down. This was important.  
  
‘Are you sure that’s all?’ Phichit said, knowing he sounded nervous himself. Yuuri still wouldn’t look at him, like he always refused to do so when he was nervous. Instead, Yuuri’s brown eyes were focused on the door of the lift. ‘This doesn’t seem very normal, Yuuri.’  
  
‘I’ve been away for work before,’ Yuuri said and Phichit frowned.  
  
‘Yeah, okay. But this is Russia, Yuuri! It’s really far away and are you sure you can, well..’  
  
Phichit didn’t want to say it but Yuuri said it for him.  
  
‘Am I sure I trust Victor?’  
  
Phichit thought of the photos on his phone. He knew how Victor looked in those photos. He knew how Yuuri looked, too. If it had been any other situation, any other life where Yuuri and Victor had ended up together like normal people, Phichit would probably be all for this. It was a bit insane, requesting Yuuri fly off to Moscow of all places, but Victor seemed a tad like that from what Phichit knew of him. But this wasn’t a normal situation and Yuuri wasn’t a normal person. Phichit wasn’t exactly sure why he felt so uneasy. If anything, the presence of the money and the boundaries of Yuuri’s job surely made him safer than if he just ran off to Russia with some stranger.  
  
But…  
  
‘Do you? Trust Victor?’ Phichit asked, because that was what was in important. Phichit liked Victor and he truly felt that Victor’s feelings towards Yuuri were good ones, but if there was any part of Yuuri that was nervous, or unsure, or anything about Victor then Phichit wanted to know immediately. Yuuri could probably take care of himself, but he didn’t have to.  
  
He had Phichit.  
  
‘Yes,’ Yuuri said and it was the strongest thing he’d said so far. He looked over at Phichit, brown eyes blazing behind his glasses. ‘I really do. If he wants me to go, then I’d like to. I’d like to see him skate.’  
  
‘You can’t believe that’s all he asked you over for,’ Phichit said, shaking his head as the lift arrived. ‘That can’t be all.’  
  
‘Well, you know what I do. It’s not _all_ he wants me for _,’_ Yuuri said with a snap and Phichit was so taken aback it rendered him silent. Asides from the one drunken evening, Yuuri had never referenced explicitly what he did as an escort to Phichit. To hear him do so, in regards to Victor and to do so with such a tone- something struck hot inside of Phichit and it ignited his impatience with Yuuri.  
  
‘This is so crazy,’ Phichit said, knowing he sounded frustrated but he was just that. With Yuuri and his stubbornness. ‘Why can’t you just admit that you like him? Can’t you see he likes you?’  
  
‘It’s not like that,’ Yuuri said weakly, stepping into the lift. ‘He’s not the first client to ask me away for the weekend. That’s what the rich ones do.’  
  
Something about that sentence sat uneasy inside of Phichit. He tried again.  
  
‘But he’s not asking you away for sex. He wants to share his competition with you. And he’s not paying you for it, right?’ Phichit said, trying to sound more understanding. Yuuri shifted awkwardly on his feet.  
  
‘He offered. I mean, when he suggested it he mentioned my website…’ Yuuri said, trailing off quietly. Phichit waited. ‘I haven’t given him a price yet.’  
  
‘Why not?’ Phichit asked, curious. Yuuri pulled at his surgical mask, fingers twisting the elastic band nervously. Phichit suddenly understood. ‘You don’t want to. You don’t want this to be work.’  
  
Yuuri said nothing, but Phichit knew he was right.  
  
‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it?’ Phichit said, smiling though Yuuri still looked deeply troubled. ‘You like him. He obviously likes you. So why not go to Moscow as his-’ Phichit faltered, searching for the right word. ‘-friend? Maybe give it shot, at least?’  
  
Yuuri sighed heavily, like Phichit was being particularly annoying and it grated right across Phichit’s nerves. Yuuri was being such a baby, really! Phichit was only trying to help, trying to show Yuuri that accepting Victor’s offer as an escort wasn’t the only option. Phichit severely doubted Victor wanted Yuuri there as an escort anyway, going by the look he gave Yuuri when he seemed to think no one was looking. But getting Yuuri to see that seemed to be like pulling teeth.  
  
Like nearly everything with Yuuri, this also seemed to require patience. But Phichit was tired and he was annoyed because Yuuri was just being dense for the sake of it now, he was convinced.  
  
‘I can’t do that. It would be careless,’ Yuuri said at last as the lift arrived on their floor. He got out, not waiting for Phichit this time.  
  
‘And you don’t think letting the man you’re in love with pay you for sex isn’t a _tad_ in the realm of careless as well?’ Phichit called after him and Yuuri turned on his heel, shoving a hand straight up to Phichit’s mouth and covering it roughly.  
  
_‘Shush!_ Are you crazy?’ Yuuri said, eyes flitting around the empty hallway. He was face was taut nerves, mouth downturned and Phichit felt guilt pool inside him. Speaking of _careless._ ‘You cannot just- just say things like that! What if someone heard you?’  
  
Phichit knew Yuuri was right and the shame he felt threatened to overwhelm him.  
  
‘Jeez, I’m sorry, Yuuri,’ Phichit said when Yuuri released him. He reached out towards Yuuri, but Yuuri turned away again, face stern as he glared at Phichit. ‘I didn’t mean to. I just… I don’t think you’re being very smart about this. That’s all.’  
  
‘You know I’ve done this for a long time, I don’t need you to tell me what to do,’ Yuuri snapped and Phichit tried to contain his groan. This was so Yuuri. Internalising everything, ignoring the problem. If Yuuri hadn’t quit skating he could’ve gone into the hundred-metre dash, what with the speed he ran from his problems with.  
  
‘I’m not trying to tell you what to do,’ Phichit said, hearing the exhaustion in his voice. Yuuri narrowed his eyes before turning and heading down the hall silently. Phichit sighed to himself, tugging his suitcase dejectedly along behind him as they made their way to their apartment.  
  
Yuuri opened the door and headed straight towards the kitchen, before he paused in the hall and turned around towards the coat hooks by the door. Yuuri could never just leave his coat lying around. It had always made Phichit feel so self-conscious, as his own clothes ended up anywhere and everywhere. He'd been away for the weekend, but Phichit knew he'd left a hooide strewn somewhere in the living room. It was a talent really, how contained Yuuri kept himself.  
  
Phichit found himself watching as Yuuri peeled his coat off, revealing the sweater that Victor had given him that night at Skate America hanging over his body. It was a little long, sleeves bunched, but Phichit knew it instantly. Yuuri didn’t mention it, instead kicking his shoes off and bending down to put them on the shoe rack. Phichit rolled his eyes.  
  
Like, c’mon.  
  
‘Okay,’ Phichit started and Yuuri straightened up, blinking at Phichit with the eyes Phichit knew so well by now. ‘I promise to leave you alone about it. I won’t question or mock any of your decisions. But you have to tell me, right now, what you plan to do and _why_ you’re doing it.’  
  
Phichit pointed a finger across the space between them.  
  
‘And no lying. You promised me.’  
  
Yuuri opened his mouth and then closed it again, pink lips pouting. He tugged at the sleeves of Victor’s jumper, pulling the edges of them over his fingers. He crossed his arms, every single part of him screaming that he was uncomfortable and the sympathy Phichit always felt when faced with an anxious Yuuri hit him as it _always_ did, but Phichit held firm. Phichit would support Yuuri no matter what. But he wanted to know what he was supporting regardless.  
  
‘I-’ Yuuri started, then stopped. His bit his lip again, shifting from one socked foot to the other. ‘I want to go. I told him I would go.’  
  
‘Why do you want to go?’  
  
‘Because… Well, because he’s Victor Nikiforov and he asked me!’ Yuuri said, squeaking a little and looking down at his feet. ‘I want to see him skate again. In person. And when he asked, I just- I couldn’t say no.’  
  
Phichit listened patiently, starting to unzip his own parka and reaching over to hang it up. Yuuri shuffled out of his way, but Phichit reached out to stop him. He held Yuuri’s shoulder lightly, not wanting to make Yuuri feel like he had to stay if he didn’t want to. But Phichit wanted Yuuri to know that he was here, he was listening. Phichit wanted Yuuri to know he was trying to understand.  
  
‘I told him not to pay me,’ Yuuri admitted quietly, so quietly it was almost like he didn’t want Phichit to hear him.  
  
Phichit’s mouth opened in shock. ‘I’m sorry, what?’  
  
‘Or at least, I told him not to do so yet!’ Yuuri said, looking up at Phichit with panicked eyes. He pulled further into himself, shoulders tight and arms even tighter. Phichit frowned.  
  
‘Why didn’t you say in the first place?’ he asked, watching as Yuuri shifted uncomfortably.  
  
‘I wasn’t sure how to explain,’ Yuuri said, worrying his lip again. Phichit spotted one his hands begin to dig into the bulk of his opposite arm. Phichit reached out, carefully pulling Yuuri’s fingers off himself. Phichit had seen that before. Sometimes Yuuri would bruise.  
  
‘It’s okay. I understand,’ Phichit said, though he wasn’t entirely sure whether he did or not. ‘You don't want this to be a professional thing between you anymore. That makes sense, Yuuri.’ Phichit looked Yuuri over again, now holding his hand in earnest. ‘You're allowed to want that.’

‘I want to see how it'll be without the money between us,’ Yuuri continued, ignoring Phichit. He kept his gaze on the floor, but his fingers tightened over Phichit’s.  
  
‘How does Victor feel about it?’ Phichit asked and Yuuri looked up, away and then back again very nervously.  
  
‘I didn’t explain it to him. I told him I was working out a payment plan, so we could sort it out after the Rostelecom Cup,’ Yuuri explained and Phichit spluttered manically.  
  
‘Yuuri! Are you kidding?’ Phichit said, unable to contain his shock. Yuuri jumped at his outburst, frowning right back at Phichit.  
  
‘You were the one who told me to stop accepting his money!’ Yuuri retorted and Phichit groaned in frustration.  
  
‘I meant you should both try being together like normal people!’ Phichit said exasperatedly.  
  
‘That’s what I’m doing!’ Yuuri replied manically and Phichit shook his head.  
  
‘No, it isn’t, Yuuri,’ Phichit said sternly before he laughed shrilly. ‘You’re testing him. It’s cruel, probably borderline sociopathic! That’s not fair, Yuuri. He doesn’t even know.’  
  
Yuuri snatched his hand out of Phichit’s, despite Phichit’s idle laughter. He looked stricken and Phichit suddenly felt like maybe his joking hadn’t been the best method of derailing the tension. Yuuri stepped back, arms coming down by his side stubbornly. He glared at Phichit with his deep brown eyes, round cheeks pale.  
  
‘You said you’d be on my side!’ Yuuri threw out and Phichit ran a hand over his face, feeling extremely out of his depth.  
  
‘Of course I’m on your side, Yuuri,’ he said, waving his hands in front of him like he could somehow show Yuuri how insane he sounded. ‘But this is crazy! It isn’t fair on Victor. Or you. You need to be honest.’  
  
‘Right. Because being honest has worked out so well in my favour so far,’ Yuuri retorted bitterly and Phichit felt stung. Before Phichit could say anything else, Yuuri turned and headed down the other way towards his bedroom. ‘There’s curry in the fridge.’  
  
With that, Yuuri went into his bedroom and snapped the door shut behind him, leaving Phichit to stand awkwardly in the hall and go over exactly what had just happened. Because Phichit wasn’t entirely he understood.  
  
Feeling tears well up in the corner of his eyes, Phichit grabbed his suitcase and retreated to his own room. Once he was there, Phichit regarded the now unpacked space. Books and posters. Clothes, everywhere. Yuuri had moved his hamsters to his room, placing them on a desk Phichit hadn’t had before he left. Yuuri must’ve bought it for him. Affection flooded through Phichit, leaking out in small, hot tears. Phichit threw himself down onto his bed, burying his face into the embroidered pillow he’d brought from home.  
  
This was terrible. He and Yuuri had never fought before, not really. Never more than a small roommate spat and even then, it was usually resolved fast enough. They could never stay mad at each other for long. Even Celestino used to joke that his own marriage didn’t work as well as Phichit and Yuuri did together. But the last few weeks, Phichit had felt like he’d been walking on eggshells. Losing fight after fight without knowing exactly how he was starting them.  
  
Phichit thought back over the conversation, flinching in on himself as he thought of all the things he said that could’ve been too harsh. But more than anything, Phichit felt frustrated with Yuuri’s stubbornness. Phichit was right. He _knew_ he was right. Yuuri liked Victor, more than that quite probably and he wasn’t being smart about it. The old Yuuri would always have listened to Phichit. Not that Phichit really understood what that meant anyway.  
  
After a while, Phichit forced himself to stop wallowing and went over to check on his babies. He and Yuuri would get through this. They had gotten through everything else before. Phichit had meant what he’d told Yuuri- he was Yuuri’s best-friend and he would support Yuuri no matter what. But Phichit wasn’t going to stop protecting Yuuri either. Even from his own stupidity.

Phichit was interrupted in retrieving a hamster to cuddle by a knock the door. Phichit called for Yuuri to come in.  
  
Yuuri opened the bedroom door, meeting Phichit’s gaze immediately. Yuuri’s eyes were red, as were his cheeks and his glasses askew. Phichit sighed, opening his arms and Yuuri made his way across the room and into Phichit’s waiting hug. Phichit hugged Yuuri tightly as Yuuri wrapped his arms around Phichit’s waist.  
  
‘I’m sorry-’  
  
‘Sorry.’  
  
Yuuri looked up at Phichit, blinking tears. ‘Why are you sorry? I was the one being selfish.’ Then Yuuri reached up, brushing a fingertip just under Phichit's left eye. 'I ruined your eyeliner, too.'  
  
‘You weren’t being selfish,’ Phichit said quietly, releasing Yuuri so Yuuri could sit himself down on the bed, facing Phichit with his deep eyes. ‘I was- I don’t know. I think I’m still figuring this out, bud.’ Phichit tried to smile. 'And I can fix the eyeliner later.'  
  
‘I understand,’ Yuuri said, before he turned and lay himself down on the bed. He reached up and pulled Phichit’s pillow down to rest on. Phichit smiled, happy at the reminder of their intimacy. If Victor Nikiforov ever got a chance to see how open Yuuri could be when he allowed himself to be, Phichit wondered if the man would really appreciate it for the special thing that it was. Getting Katsuki Yuuri to open to you was no small feat.  
  
'Am I a sociopath?' Yuuri asked, looking up from the embroidered pillow. Phichit sighed, finally taking pity.

'Sociopath? No,' Phichit replied, getting up from leaning against the desk to walk over and sit on the bed. Yuuri turned over onto his back, brown eyes wide with worry as he looked up at Phichit. 'Neurotic, yes.'

'I think-' Yuuri started, then stopped. He raised his hand, thumb going between his teeth in thought. He looked away and then back. Phichit knew this dance. 'I think I like him.'

'No shit,' Phichit smiled, feigning surprise. Yuuri covered his face with his hands.

'What am I going to do? I can't like him. I can't allow myself to like him,’ he mumbled from beneath his palms.

'Haven't you had a crush on him since you were, like, ten?' Phichit asked, as Yuuri sat up, shoulders down and hair sticking up. With his eyes shining from behind his glasses, he looked the very picture of deflated.

'That was different. I didn't _know_ him then,' Yuuri said, staring straight ahead. Phichit only hesitated for the briefest moment.

'As opposed to now, where you're just banging him?' Phichit said, enjoying Yuuri's squeal of protest at the language. Honestly, Phichit hadn't been able to wrap his head around what Yuuri had told him for so many reasons. Many, many reasons. But this is what stumped Phichit the most. How Katsuki Yuuri managed to shake off his crippling awkwardness to not only have sex, but to have sex for money?

That was beyond anything. Even Phichit’s understanding met its limit. Though Yuuri was certainly pushing that limit with each and every passing day.

'It's not like that,' Yuuri said quietly once he'd stopped blustering. 'It should be, but it isn't.'

'I don't follow,' Phichit replied, leaning back against the headboard. Yuuri tugged his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, like he was trying to make himself smaller.

'There should be boundaries,' Yuuri said, voice a little muffled as he spoke into his folded knees. Phichit frowned.

'Like to keep you safe?'

'Well, yeah. But I meant more between myself and Victor,' Yuuri said, sadness evident in his tone. Phichit's heart twisted in sympathy. Yuuri looked so miserable. 'Neither us can afford to get confused. He pays me, Phichit. We have to remember that. Victor's a client. I'm a service.'

There was something about that phrase that hit Phichit deep in his stomach. Not for the first time in discussing Yuuri's profession, Phichit found himself feeling disgust. Not at escorting, but at how Yuuri regarded himself. Revulsion at how his friend, his beautiful and talented friend, could consider himself a _thing_ . Like he is was somehow worth less than the people that hired him. No matter what he did, Phichit never seemed to be able to pull Yuuri away from that. It hurt.  
  
‘What we have- how he feels, none of it is real,’ Yuuri said quietly, muffling his words. ‘He’s not the first client to get confused.’  
  
‘What does that mean?’ Phichit asked, suddenly very worried. The image of some tall, scary man following Yuuri through the streets rose unbidden. Phichit moved a little closer, like he could somehow protect Yuuri from this imaginary person.  
  
‘I just mean with this job. People can get confused by the fantasy,’ Yuuri explained, now looking straight up at the ceiling. ‘I have to be careful. I just have to remind myself that everything we do together is because he hired me to do it.’

Phichit tried to manage it, tried to say nothing. He couldn't help it though.  
  
‘You need to talk to Victor. Not now, if you don’t want to. But maybe when you get to Moscow,’ Phichit said, running a hand through Yuuri’s hair absently as he said it. Yuuri buried his face into his knees.

‘What if I don't like the answer?’

‘That's a risk you're going to have to take.’

‘What if wants to pay me?’

'Then just don't let him?' Phichit suggested. Yuuri sighed and Phichit already knew he was fighting a losing battle.

'It doesn't work like that. If Victor only wants me as a luxury, then that's that,' Yuuri said quietly, words a little stern. He was tired of Phichit's naivety, Phichit could tell. The frustration started to build, but Phichit held his tongue. 'I wouldn't be surprised anyway. He isn't interested in who I am off the clock. Not really, he just likes the mystery. I mean, look at me. Look at my life. Not exactly up there with his glittering existence, is it?'

'But hiring a hooker is?' Phichit said before he could stop himself, frustration bubbling over and knowing when the words were halfway out of his mouth that he had gone too far and instantly regretting it.

Yuuri's head snapped up, eyes burning. He straightened out, long legs languid and his expression suddenly cool. Like a switch had been flipped.

Phichit hadn't seen Yuuri angry very often. Yuuri didn't _do_ ‘angry’ so much as annoyance. And even then, nine times out of ten it seemed to be aimed at himself, usually for some mistake in training or ever rarer, cooking. But now, today of all days, Phichit had successfully made Yuuri angry _twice._ Phichit really wasn't sure of his position, all of a sudden.

'So that’s what you think of me?' Yuuri asked, eyes very dark and voice even more so. Phichit raised his hands in surrender.  
  
‘No! No, of course not-!’  
  
‘I knew it. I _knew_ it,’ Yuuri said, fisting his hands into the comforter on either side of his hips. He leaned out of Phichit’s reach and looked at Phichit with his eyes burning. ‘You said you were fine with what I do, but you’re not.’  
  
‘That’s not true!’ Phichit said desperately, but Yuuri was already speaking again.  
  
‘I should never have told you,’ Yuuri continued, eyes beginning to water and Phichit started to panic, wondering madly how he kept managing to fuck this conversation up. ‘You think I’m a whore.’  
  
‘Yuuri!’ Phichit cried, shocked and feeling sick in his stomach. ‘Of course I don’t!’  
  
‘That’s what you called me,’ Yuuri said darkly and Phichit frowned, confused. He thought back, but couldn’t think of a single moment in which he’d ever called Yuuri such a thing. As if reading Phichit’s mind, Yuuri added; ‘The day I told you. You called me a whore.’  
  
Phichit thought back and shook his head quickly. ‘No. No, I didn’t. I definitely didn’t, Yuuri. You can’t really-’  
  
‘I heard you!’ Yuuri said, sounding a little bit manic. He closed his eyes and the tears that had been building leaked from the corners of his eyes, down his cheeks into two clear lines. ‘You thought I didn’t understand.’  
  
Suddenly, Phichit understood.  
  
‘Yuuri, I love you. You know I do. But your Thai is _terrible!’_ Phichit said hurriedly, trying to get Yuuri to understand. It was true. Where Phichit had managed to get some basic Japanese, Yuuri had struggled more than he had any right to with Thai in Phichit’s opinion. Yuuri _tsked,_ clearly not believing Phichit.  
  
‘I know what _weṣ̄yā_ means. I’m not that dumb,’ Yuuri snapped and Phichit flushed terribly, shame flooding through him as the memory came back. He should never had said it, but he didn’t mean it like that! He’d just been surprised, he’d been ranting- it had been the first word that popped into his head and Phichit really hadn’t thought Yuuri would understand him.  
  
Not that it made it right, or anything. But… ugh, this was just so confusing. Phichit tried to apologise again, but Yuuri seemed to be having none of it. He waved a hand to try and shut Phichit up, speaking over Phichit when Phichit ignored the warning.  
  
‘Just stop, please,’ Yuuri said, holding a hand up and silencing Phichit at last. They both sat stewing, the hamsters squeaking from their new desk. Phichit hadn’t even had a chance to thank Yuuri for the purchase. ‘It’s fine. I get it. I knew this would happen anyway.’  
  
‘You did not!’ Phichit said, perhaps a little more desperation evident in his tone than was required. But Yuuri was shutting down and it wasn’t fair. Phichit hated when Yuuri shut him out like this. ‘I’m fine with what you do, Yuuri. Really, I am. I believe you when you say you’re being safe. But I just… I don’t know. I think this thing you have with Victor, it’s not like your regular work, you know?’  
  
‘Clearly,’ Yuuri snorted derisively and Phichit felt his blood turn cold. ‘You think I’m his hooker.’

'Look, Yuuri,' Phichit started, fumbling terribly as Yuuri frowned from behind his glasses, regret instant once again at ever having such a thing. Hearing Yuuri refer to himself that way, it twisted parts of Phichit into knots so tight it threatened to break him. 'I- I didn't mean _you_ , you know? I just meant that maybe, I don't know, maybe you're putting Victor on too high a pedestal.'

'I'm tired,' Yuuri said suddenly, sliding off the bed and standing quickly. He slipped out of Phichit’s reach easily, as fluid and cold as he was on the ice. 'I think I'm going to go to bed.'  
  
It was only just gone five in the afternoon.

'Yuuri, wait!' Phichit rose to follow him, but Yuuri held a hand up to signal him to stop. Which Phichit did, but only because he was afraid not to.

Yuuri looked so mad. This was different to when Yuuri would kick the ice with his skates, or even when Yuuri would get so fed up he’d actually growl at whatever had irked him. This emotion was so deep it seemed to change the very shape of his face and Phichit felt panic ignite inside him. Yuuri looked like a different person and Phichit had never felt more out of his depth.

‘We should talk about this-’ Phichit started but Yuuri scoffed. It sounded cruel, even to Phichit and it made his stomach turn.

‘No,’ Yuuri said and to Phichit’s horror, he heard the tears before they started to form. ‘No, I don't think so. We’ve talked so much and you just- _kuso.’_

The swearing sounded alien in Yuuri’s mouth, despite his native tongue. Yuuri hated swearing, only ever electing to do so in Japanese in the hope that no one would know he was cursing at all. Phichit shifted awkwardly on the bed, unsure of what to do but make sure Yuuri did not leave the room as upset as he was. As upset as he was _with Phichit._

‘You just don't get it,’ Yuuri said at last, Victor’s sweater gripped in front of him like a shield. His fingers were white, he was holding it so tightly. Yuuri looked away from Phichit, mouth downturned and tears still sliding down his cheeks. Phichit got up from the bed. ‘I should never have told you.’

‘Yuuri, I’m on your side!’ Phichit pleaded desperately, daring to take a step forward as Yuuri made a small sniffling sound.

‘I think,’ Yuuri said slowly, voice thick. He looked up at Phichit, face determined despite the tears. ‘Moscow is coming at a good time for us. Give us both some space to think.’

Before Phichit could say anything, Yuuri turned and left. Phichit sat, frozen for a moment and listening to the noise of Yuuri shuffling outside the bedroom door. Then there was the sound of the front door clicking open and closing again, causing Phichit to wake up from his daze. He threw his bedroom door open and stared ahead at the front door and coat hooks. Yuuri’s coat and shoes were missing.  
  
Phichit knew where he’d gone. When Yuuri was hurting, he would always retreat to the rink and try to skate his worries away. Phichit knew this. He knew that if he left now, he’d probably catch Yuuri just leaving the foyer of the complex.  
  
But Phichit did not do that. Instead, he padded his way down to the kitchen to heat some of the curry Yuuri had made him. He didn’t feel very hungry, but it was weirdly comforting to go through the motions of setting up a meal for himself. A meal Yuuri had prepared for him. Yuuri didn’t cook that often, but that he did cook often tasted great. Yuuri had always complimented his mother for his cooking.  
  
Once the food was ready, Phichit stood at the island of the kitchen and ate slowly. He took his time finishing his meal, took even longer to clean up. He kept pulling his phone out, checking the time. An hour became two, then three and Phichit was still home alone, watching Netflix on the couch in the sitting room on the ridiculous television. He could go to his bedroom, be more comfortable. But Phichit was waiting. Waiting for Yuuri to come home.  
  
In the end, Phichit fell asleep on the couch. If Yuuri came home, it didn’t wake him.

* * *

  
The next five days passed in a strange blur.  
  
Celestino had Phichit training almost twice as much, anticipation of confirmation of his place in the Grand Prix Final driving them forward. Phichit would leave early, knowing Yuuri was still in bed as Yuuri always slept in late. By the time Phichit was finished with training, showered and on his way home, Yuuri had already left for work. Where ever or whatever that entailed, as Phichit wasn’t being told a damn thing. As a testament to his depression, Phichit hadn’t uploaded to Instagram at all. Several friends had sent concerned messages.  
  
Yuuri had been silent for the last five days, their one or two moments of intersection so cold that Phichit still carried the chill they gave him long into the day. Yuuri would say nothing as he passed Phichit in the hall, wouldn’t knock on Phichit’s door in the night when he couldn’t sleep for whatever reason. Phichit knew why he himself wasn’t sleeping.  
  
‘Phichit, what’s up with you?’ Celestino had asked on Wednesday, after Phichit had gone through _Shall We Skate?_ For the fifth time, almost throwing himself so badly in a fall that Celestino had banned him from skating for the rest of the day, just in case.  
  
‘It’s nothing,’ Phichit had said, feeling a little bad for snapping but Celestino had been nothing but kind. He’d patted Phichit on the back, commenting that it was natural to get nervous before the Grand Prix.  
  
‘At least you have Yuuri to cheer you up!’ he’d said and Phichit had wanted to cry.  
  
The only thing that kept Phichit going was when he would get home from training, Yuuri would have some form of dinner waiting for him. Salad from the bar down the street. Lean chicken and steamed vegetables with red curry from Phichit’s favourite Thai restaurant. Edamame beans with salt and donburi one evening, something Yuuri had obviously made himself by the looks of the lopsided cuts of carrot and cabbage. That evening Phichit had cried, just the smallest bit with relief.  
  
Yuuri was angry, which Phichit could understand. But the love was still there and if it wasn’t for that, Phichit was sure he would’ve broken entirely. Died from a broken heart, signed his will and left his poor orphaned hamsters to Yuuri.  
  
Now it was Thursday evening and Phichit had requested the day off from Celestino, who agreed that Phichit needed a break. But Phichit had really wanted the day because he didn’t want to miss Yuuri before he left for Moscow.  
  
Yuuri had ignored Phichit for most of the day, sticking to his room exclusively. Phichit walked by every now and then, just to check Yuuri hadn’t snuck out while Phichit had been ambling about the kitchen. The quiet rummaging from inside always calmed Phichit’s worries, so Phichit waited throughout the day for Yuuri to come out.  
  
Which Yuuri was currently doing, going by the noise down the hall.  
  
Phichit leapt off the couch, abandoning his phone as he headed straight down the hall. He caught Yuuri leaning against the wall, slipping his trainers on from the rack. Yuuri looked up, brown eyes blinking behind his glasses and hair covered by the cat-eared beanie Phichit had gotten him for his twenty-second birthday. He was also wearing that stupid, brown coat.  
  
Phichit walked up slowly, like he was approaching a particularly skittish animal. Yuuri finished with his shoes, standing up straight and regarding Phichit with a very guarded look on his face. Phichit stood in front of him, suddenly unsure of what exactly his plan was.  
  
Eventually, Phichit just thought _sod it._  
  
‘You’re my best-friend, Yuuri,’ Phichit said and Yuuri’s mouth opened, just a bit. The way it always did when he was surprised. ‘You’re also the best person I know. If you want to do this, then know that I’ll help you. Anyway I can. Even if I’m not good at it. I’ll… do better. I’ll do whatever. Just don’t- just don’t go anywhere I can’t follow you, I guess.’  
  
Phichit stopped his rambling, rocking on the balls of his feet before stopping. He threw his arms up in defeat.  
  
‘So, there. That’s it.’  
  
Yuuri stared at Phichit for a long time. His beanie was on a little low, a tad lopsided too so the ears were crooked. He blinked a few times, mouth still open, and then he was moving. In two short steps, Yuuri had his arms around Phichit in a very tight hug. Phichit was relieved, hugging Yuuri back a little too hard going by the small _oof_ he got in response. But he couldn’t help it.  
  
It wasn’t fixed. Definitely not. Phichit knew that. But he couldn’t have let Yuuri go thinking that Phichit wasn’t there for him.  
  
If Yuuri was really going to Moscow to give Victor a proper chance, then he needed to do so knowing that Phichit would be there for him no matter what. Even if Yuuri was still angry, still unsure- because Phichit could tell by the silence he was getting as Yuuri pulled away and arranged his suitcase and leather satchel around himself, that Yuuri was still angry. Even then, Phichit wanted Yuuri to know.  
  
‘See you!’ Phichit called out as Yuuri left the apartment. Before he left, Yuuri smiled weakly and gave Phichit a small wave.  
  
Phichit smiled back, but his heart was heavy. He really hoped Victor Nikiforov was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who wanted a Phichit chapter? No one but me, probably. But look, Yuuri is his furniture sugar-daddy. <3


	11. Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Victor gets to the bottom of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oi! Prekrati’ spletnichat’, mu’dak! - Oi, stop gossiping, asshole!
> 
> Delay to, chto tebe skazano! - do as you are told

**14:58PM** _I can’t wait to see you, Yuuri. There's so much I want to show you._  
  
_Sent!_  
  
Victor was leaning back against the awning of the rink, staring at his phone, which still hadn’t pinged with a reply from Yuuri.

Victor really was trying not to push. He understood that it may have been a bit unorthodox to invite Yuuri to Moscow, but he had never been more certain of something than he was that having Yuuri there would be… Well, to be honest, Victor wasn’t entirely sure. But it had felt right to ask and Victor was certain he’d seen in Yuuri’s face when he had done so that Yuuri wanted to come.  
  
Yuuri was opening himself up more and more, revealing a quiet insecurity to him that Victor found endearing. Victor wanted to explore the parts of Yuuri that Yuuri kept so well hidden beneath silk and teasing glances. There was something beautiful there, something fragile. Victor wanted to show Yuuri that he could be trusted to keep such a thing safe, if given the chance. And Victor always explained things better on the ice than in person. The Rostelecom Cup could be the perfect chance.  
  
Victor sighed, tapping his home-button again to see his lockscreen was still blank of messages. Maybe he’d asked too much, had pushed Yuuri or gotten too excited. But there was simply no way he could get away to America again before the Grand Prix. Yakov wouldn’t allow it. Yuri wouldn’t allow it. But Victor couldn’t shake the feeling that there was some great timer somewhere, counting down and he was running out of time to get closer to Yuuri.

He couldn’t explain it, but Victor felt an unusual disquiet in him when he thought of not having Yuuri in his life. There was something about leaving Yuuri behind that made Victor’s heart ache, made his stomach turn over with doubt. Doubt was not something Victor was familiar with. Impulsive as it may have been, there had been nothing to stop Victor from asking Yuuri to come to Moscow in response to that.  
  
And finally, Yuuri had said yes.

Yuuri had requested not to be paid upfront. Initially, Victor had taken that as a good sign. A step away from their usual arrangement. Without the money, maybe Victor would be given more a chance to see Yuuri for who he really was. Like Yuuri would feel less inclined to give Victor a specific version of himself. But the longer Yuuri didn’t reply to Victor, the more Victor’s confidence in that first thought began to shake.  
  
Victor glanced around the rink, trying to distract himself. He watched as Yakov hollered over the rink-wall down at the other end of the rink at the small group of juniors. How relieved he was not to be in that position anymore. Biting his lip, Victor absently kicked his skate against the ice, gold blade winking in the afternoon light that poured through the large windows of the rink. Another look at the phone. Still nothing.

Victor tried to rationalise. It was still early back in Detroit, very early for Yuuri going by what Victor knew of him. Yuuri probably fell back asleep. That’s what Victor told himself, or tried to tell himself. But the niggling thought that maybe Yuuri’s request was really a way for Yuuri to back out if he wanted to, without any hindrance, stuck in Victor’s brain stubbornly.

Not that there was anything wrong with that. Victor didn’t want Yuuri to feel he _had_ to do anything. But Victor really, really hoped Yuuri had wanted to…  
  
‘Vitya!’ Yakov bellowed across the rink and Victor resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Victor’s name had been yelled so much over the last few weeks that it had even begun to lose meaning to Victor himself. ‘Get out here and warm up before I tell the ISU you’re retiring due to lack of will!’  
  
_‘Da, da,’_ Victor sighed, carefully zipping his phone into the pocket of his sweats. Most skaters didn’t bring their phone to the ice in case it would get damaged if they fell. But Victor never fell.  
  
‘Ah, Victor, you look so miserable!’ Mila said, skating in smooth circles in the centre of the rink as Victor glided up to her. She crossed her narrow arms, hips canted. The pose struck a memory of Yuuri through Victor, the way his body moved when he danced. Victor felt his heart twist, but he smiled anyway.  
  
‘Not at all, Mila,’ he said, turning on one of his skates easily so he steered around her in one, wide circle. ‘Just thinking about my short-program.’  
  
Mila’s blue eyes widened, plucked eyebrows raising. ‘You’re changing it _again?’_  
  
Victor spun into a delicate halt, skates scratching across the surface in a whisper. He tossed his head, fringe flaring and biting at his cheeks. With a shrug, Victor gave Mila another smile; ‘How else am I supposed to keep it fresh for the audience?’  
  
‘You really give yourself too much work,’ Mila said with a pout, shaking her head so her red curls bobbed around her cheeks. Victor laughed at that, unable to stop himself.  
  
‘If only Yakov shared your opinion.’  
  
‘Coach loves you,’ Mila replied, pouting in earnest this time. ‘It so unfair, really.’  
  
Victor didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing, turning again to start doing some laps around the half of the rink they’d been granted. As he moved along the ice, Victor tried not to think about Yuuri. But he quickly found it was impossible. Every push Victor gave, every swing of his arm- were these things Yuuri knew as well as Victor did? Yuuri had let slip he was a fan and never had Victor been more aware of his own skating. Moving in steady steps and glides, Victor couldn’t help but wonder if Yuuri ever wondered what it felt like to move like Victor could move.  
  
Victor would offer to show him, if Yuuri wanted it.  
  
Victor’s thoughts were interrupted by the loud chime of his phone going off, startling him so he wobbled a little in his skates as he skidded to a halt. With one steady kick backwards, Victor pushed himself towards the awning to take his phone out.  
  
_1_ _Новые сообщения - Yuuri_ _  
_ _  
_ **15:31PM** Sorry. I was in the shower. I’ve never been to Moscow, so I’ll be relying on you to show me everything anyway. To be honest though, the thing I’m most excited for is seeing you skate. I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully. You always do.   
  
Some great, powerful thing swelled in Victor like a tide and it threatened to drown him as he read the words, smile coming unbidden as he tried to imagine Yuuri watching him, pictured him standing at the kiss-and-cry. What a thing that would be.  
  
‘I know that smile,’ Mila said from somewhere and Victor looked up from his phone to see her skating over to him, lips quirked in a grin as she approached. Mila turned in fluid motion, momentum carrying her backwards to the rink-wall where she bumped to a halt. ‘That’s a boyfriend smile.’  
  
Victor didn’t even try to deny it as he typed out a response to Yuuri. ‘What’s a _boyfriend smile?’_ _  
_ _  
_ ‘You know, the smile someone gets when their boyfriend is around. Or texts, by the looks of it.’  
  
‘Hmm,’ Victor said, knowing he sounded a tad giddy and completely unashamed as such. He tapped _Send_ and watched as Yuuri’s little speech bubble appeared, heart fluttering in his chest.  
  
‘Is it Yuuri?’  
  
Victor almost dropped the phone.  
  
Looking up, Victor clung the phone tightly as Mila laughed at him, all teasing. But Victor’s heart felt like it had stopped in his chest, body locked as realisation of what Mila had just asked him hit.  
  
‘How-?’ Victor shook his head, trying to piece together what exactly had just happened. ‘How do you know about Yuuri?’  
  
Mila’s laugh fell short, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Victor with confusion, but Victor barely registered as his mind started to run away with itself. Did Mila _know?_ That would be very bad. She didn’t seem concerned but there was no way Mila could keep a secret. It was documented fact.  
  
‘We met at Skate America. The party you crashed, remember?’ Mila said slowly, English suddenly uncertain in her mouth. Victor just stopped himself from sighing in relief as the memory came back to him. In all that had happened after, Victor had actually managed to forget. He always forgot things so easily.  
  
Right. Of course. How could Mila know anything other than that? Victor had been far too easy to panic. But it sat inside him, uneasy weight in his stomach.  
  
‘He was very drunk,’ Mila continued, flicking her short hair as she looked across the rink. She twisted her body in little half turns, left to right, then right to left as she spoke. ‘Cute though. Though you obviously think that already.’  
  
‘I do,’ Victor said quietly, still wary of the conversation. Yuuri’s reply chimed from his fingers, but Victor resisted the urge to check it straight away, instead choosing to watch Mila. ‘How did you know he was Yuuri?’  
  
Did she meet Phichit, too? Was that how she knew Yuuri’s real name? Victor didn’t realise he was shaking until he saw Mila glance down at his hands. Victor turned and rested them on the awning, holding steady.  
  
‘What do you mean? He told me,’ Mila said, confusion evident in her tone. She turned to echo him and gave Victor a sideways glance. ‘He's who you went to America for, right? I won’t tell Yakov, you know.’  
  
Victor highly doubted that, but he appreciated her saying it all the same.  
  
‘You’re really lucky, you know,’ Mila said, leaning on a hand across the awning and blowing a stray hair out of her face. ‘It’s so hard to find someone who loves skating as much as you do. At least Yuuri knows what you’re talking about. My ex used to glaze over like a mousse cake whenever-’  
  
Victor had stopped listening, instead focusing on the meaning behind Mila’s words than the actual story.  
  
‘How much did he tell you?’ Victor asked, interrupting Mila rudely but not caring about it. Mila made a small noise of disapproval, but she straightened up and looked at Victor plainly.  
  
‘He didn’t tell me about the two of you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Though I guessed,’ she said, voice turning teasing at the end but Victor motioned with his hand for her to continue, getting impatient. Mila shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Just about how you first met in Sochi and how excited he was to meet you. It was sweet, really.’  
  
‘We didn’t meet in Sochi,’ Victor said, deeply confused. He knew Yuuri had been drunk and had likely lied quite a bit out of necessity, but surely telling Mila they’d met back here in Russia was pushing it?  
  
Mila looked at Victor with a stern gaze. Then, something crossed her face and her mouth opened in a small _oh._  
  
‘He told me you didn’t remember. But I just- I thought he was drunk.’ Mila suddenly looked uncertain, fidgeting. Hands running over the edge of the plexiglass.  
  
Victor tightened his grip on the awning, on his phone. There was something hovering, just out of reach. Victor could almost see it. ‘Didn’t remember what?’ When Mila said nothing, Victor tried again, sterner. ‘Mila, I need you to tell me.’  
  
Mila still nothing. She fidgeted, shifting on his skates. From behind them, a junior whooped loudly as they fell. Then-  
  
‘Yuuri told me you met at the Grand Prix in Sochi, but you didn’t remember.’  
  
This time, Victor really did drop his phone. It hit the ice with a loud _clack_ and Mila squealed, bending down to try and catch it. But Victor let it fall, all thoughts coming to a narrow, sharp point that went straight through him.  
  
Sochi.

Victor thought back. That had been four years ago. Why had Yuuri been there?

Victor tried to think, but he was very certain he hadn’t met Yuuri then. Had Phichit been competing, was that why Yuuri had been there? No, that can’t be it. Phichit had said to him that this was his first time qualifying for the Grand Prix. If not Phichit, then why was Yuuri-  
  
‘Oh my God,’ Victor whispered, hands coming to run through his hair as something came to his mind, misremembered and hazy. But it came and shook through him, trembling understanding all the way down.  
  
Victor snatched his phone from Mila as she picked it up, opening Google and typing hurriedly into the search box.  
  
_Yuuri figure skating_ _  
__  
_ He shouldn’t have been surprised to see that nearly all the immediate search results were for Yuri Plisetsky. Whining a bit in impatience, Victor ignored Mila’s questions and added _Grand Prix Sochi_ to the end of the sentence.  
  
That did it.  
  
_Katsuki Yuuri._ Japan’s ace, according to one result. ISU licenced figure-skater and competitor in the Grand Prix, Sochi, four years ago.  
  
Victor fell back against the awning, switching to images and feeling his heart swell inside him, swallowing up space all the way up his throat so he felt like he couldn’t quite breathe. There was Yuuri. Much younger, even a little shorter, but there he was. On the ice, the way Victor had been imagining him all this time. Sparkling costumes, hair pushed back like he always wore it now. And on his face, a look of peace Victor had never seen on him before.  
  
Victor had been suspecting Yuuri was a skater for a while now. Victor had intended on using the Rostelecom Cup to try and coax Yuuri into admittance. But this? Competitive? _Victor’s competitor?_ Victor had not been expecting this.  
  
Suddenly everything came together. Yuuri’s drunken ramblings, the way his face had been when Victor had skated for him in that empty rink. His deep, brown eyes when they met Victor’s that first time in the bar. Bright, searching. A lighthouse, leading Victor to this shore and now the tide had pulled back, showing Victor everything that had been hiding beneath the surface.  
  
All this time, he and Yuuri had already met. And Yuuri hadn’t _said a thing_.  
  
Something cold settled in Victor’s stomach. It churned there, heavy and spiraling, weighing Victor down with it’s mass. Yuuri had been lying, this entire time. About everything. What else had been a lie? Victor wanted to believe that what he’d seen in Yuuri, what he felt when they were together was real. But now doubt chewed at that hope, fraying it’s edges until it felt smaller.  
  
Had Yuuri just been humouring him this entire time? Playing the role he was paid so well for? Victor took an unsteady breath, his knees feeling liquid beneath him.  
  
None of this made any sense. Yuuri had quit skating. But why? If he had been good enough to make it to the Grand Prix, he should’ve been good enough to keep going. Had he been injured? Yuuri showed no sign of such, but evidently Yuuri was much better at keeping things secret than Victor first thought. Had anything Yuuri had told him been true?  
  
‘Victor? What’s wrong?’ Mila asked, reaching out tentatively. Victor waved her off, moving across the ice in his skates.  
  
‘He never told me,’ Victor said, more to himself than anything. He looked down at his phone, at the unopened message Yuuri had sent him.  
  
Victor thought of Yuuri’s eyes. Round and the colour of turned soil in the spring. The warmth that burned inside them and the the way they shined when Victor managed to surprise Yuuri. A quiet, shimmering surprise so precious Victor could set in it gold and it would outweigh medals.  
  
Breathing unevenly, Victor ignored Mila and opened the message from Yuuri.  
  
**15:46PM** Will I need to bring a thermal? I imagine it’s going to be cold. Much colder than here, probably. Do you know I never needed a thermal until I got to the States?  
  
Somewhere, half a world away, Yuuri was texting Victor like he would text anybody. It wasn’t sexting or flirting, or practiced teasing. It was just Yuuri. Katsuki Yuuri.  
  
Victor had been classifying him as _his Yuuri_ in his head for some time now. But that wasn’t true, or perhaps even remotely achievable.  
  
Victor opened Youtube, typing Yuuri’s name and the date for the Grand Prix into the searchbox. He found a video of Yuuri’s short-program and opened it immediately.  
  
Yuuri moved across the ice the way Victor had dreamed he would. His step sequence was almost flawless, but something was keeping Yuuri’s body tense. Victor could see, even in the video. Short, stammered steps but even as Yuuri’s hips swayed, Victor saw the same music in the movement he saw when they had first danced together. By the time of the second-half, Yuuri had fallen. Only to fall again for his next jump as well. Victor’s heart turned over, bending itself in half with sympathy as Yuuri shuddered his way to a finish, score mediocre.  
  
According the description, Yuuri had come sixth. No wonder Victor didn’t recognise him. Victor cursed his own arrogance, tugging the phone to his chest as he mind raced with everything. There were too many thoughts, too many things to try and focus on. Victor felt like he mind was spinning, right on the edge of a blade. Round and round.  
  
Yuuri was a skater. He knew Victor, as more than a fan. He was Victor’s competitor. Or he had been. They’d met and Yuuri had said _nothing._ All that time they had been together... But as Victor stopped to let himself think, Victor knew, somehow, that Yuuri’s decision not to tell him had nothing to do with how they felt now. It had to.  
  
Right?  
  
Victor excused himself from Mila’s simpering, skating all the way to the other end of the rink. Impulsively, Victor opened his phone again and hit _call._  
  
‘Hello?’  
  
‘Yuuri,’ Victor gasped softly, staring at the empty bleachers of the rink. Yuuri shuffled on the other end of the line, but before he could speak, Victor continued; ‘Do you like me?’  
  
‘What?’ Yuuri asked, a bit starkly but Victor ignored it, waiting. ‘Of course I do.’  
  
‘I mean, will you come to Moscow?’  
  
‘I already told you I would. Is everything alright?’  
  
No, Victor wanted to say. Why didn’t you tell me? What else aren’t you telling me?  
  
But… Yuuri didn’t _have_ to tell Victor any of that. Or anything at all. That was Yuuri’s life, his own life and his own past that he held onto. Something he didn’t sell. Victor froze, suddenly unsure what exactly to say. Yuuri didn’t _owe_ him anything. This was, after all, what Victor ultimately wanted. He wanted Yuuri outside of his profession, wanted Yuuri to be his own person and make his own choices. He’d only ever hoped those choices would include Victor. But Victor couldn’t _expect_ Yuuri to include him...  
  
He couldn’t ask. He didn’t have the right. If Yuuri had wanted Victor to know, he would’ve said. Wouldn’t he?  
  
‘I- uh, no. No, everything’s fine,’ Victor stammered, initial emotion failing as he tried to think clearly. Yuuri made a noise of concern on the other end of the phone.  
  
‘Are you sure? You don’t sound okay.’  
  
‘Do you want to?’  
  
‘Do I want to what? Victor-?’  
  
‘Come to Moscow?’ Victor continued breathlessly, knowing he was running out of time as he heard Yakov yelling in the background.  
  
‘I wouldn’t come unless I wanted to,’ Yuuri said, nervous laugh tail-ending the sentence. Victor turned in his skates.  
  
‘Are you sure?’ Victor asked, knowing he sounded childish but he didn’t care. He wanted to know, needed to hear Yuuri say it. ‘Because you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I know it’s far for you to travel. It’s selfish of me to ask you to come all this way just to watch-’  
  
‘Victor,’ Yuuri said, interrupting Victor’s anxious rambling. Victor swallowed his words, throat tight. Yuuri laughed a little down the phone and something loosened itself in Victor. Warmth pooling deep in his chest at the sound. ‘There’s nothing I want more than to come and see you skate.’  
  
Victor’s heart hammered in his chest, breath catching. ‘Do you mean that?’  
  
‘More than anything,’ Yuuri replied quietly, like he was confessing something.  
  
Victor thought of the Yuuri from four years ago. The crushing look of disappointment on his face in that video when the scores were announced. Victor wished he could reach a hand back in time, lead Yuuri forward to a future where maybe Victor could’ve been in it much sooner. Victor wanted to think that had he been given the chance, he could’ve helped.  
  
Victor wanted to help. He wanted another chance.  
  
Something had happened. Yuuri was a figure-skater and now he was an escort. There were career changes and then there was… whatever it was Yuuri had done.  
  
‘I promise it’ll be worth it,’ Victor said, meaning it quite sincerely. Yuuri made a soft hum.  
  
‘I know it will.’  
  
Behind him, Yakov’s scolding got a little more fevered and Victor ran a hand over his face in frustration. ‘I have to go.’  
  
‘Okay,’ Yuuri said and Victor thought he could hear a smile in his voice. The image squeezed the air out of Victor’s lungs. ‘I’ll see you on Friday, okay?’  
  
‘I can’t wait,’ Victor said and it was true. Then, Yuuri was gone.  
  
Victor stared down at his phone for a moment, doubt and affection swirling like oil on water. Viscous, cloying feeling across the deep, deep surface of whatever he felt for Yuuri. Until this moment, Victor had been sure he knew exactly what he was doing. But as he stared into the face of the truths Yuuri kept so well hidden, Victor realised he may have given more of himself away that he had ever intended.  
  
The idea came to him distantly as he skated back towards Yakov, who had now entirely dismissed the juniors and was standing by the rink where Mila was still waiting.  
  
Victor wouldn’t push. Yuuri didn’t have to confess to anything he didn’t want. Victor couldn’t ask that of him. But he couldn’t unknow what Mila had told him either. Yuuri had obviously never meant to tell Mila that, Victor guessed. Yuuri had been so terribly drunk, he hadn’t been in the mind to make any clear choices. Victor knew all of this. But something still hurt, something still ate him with sharp bites. Sinking it’s teeth into the soft thing he felt for Yuuri. How much of what had happened between them was real? How much of the Yuuri Victor felt he was beginning to see was _actually_ Yuuri?  
  
As Yakov ordered Victor around the rink in laps, Victor thought of Moscow at the end of the week. Yuuri would there. He was giving his trust to Victor, trust that Victor would keep him safe and respect him. There was no money between them, not for now. Victor turned into a small loop, lifting off the ground with one smooth bend. He could try and offer Yuuri something. Something Yuuri could say no to, if he wanted. But Victor knew now he had to ask.  
  
Decision made, Victor landed from his jump with a loud __clap._  
  
_

* * *

The next time Victor was on the ice waiting to hear from Yuuri, it was Friday and he was drenched with sweat, knees trembling and hands shaking, but still ignoring Yakov. Which really, was one of the few pleasures left in skating.

The Megasports Arena was the pinnacle of competitive layout, tiered seats stepping up to the domed roof in coloured blocks of red, blue and yellow. Victor watched the arena crew move through them, adjusting and clearing the entryways. In the far corner, maintenance hovered by the zamboni, watching Victor and the rest of his team with steadily growing impatience. Team Russia, as they had been affectionately called, were the only ones remaining for practice.

‘Victor!’

Victor rolled his eyes through the newly developed step sequence, coming to an elegant stop after Yakov’s scolding. Yakov had been telling Victor all afternoon that Victor had been speeding his way through it. But Victor couldn't help it. The anticipation of seeing Yuuri again leaked into everything he did over the last few weeks.

‘What has you so excited?’ Mila teased, pushing away from the rink-edge to skate idly alongside Victor. She cast a glance around the rink, before looking back again with a broad grin. ‘Fix things with Yuuri?’

Victor laughed. ‘Sort of.’

‘You must’ve been very creative. Detroit is far away,’ Mila said, wiggling her eyebrows in a manner that reminded Victor vividly of Chris. How lucky he was those two forces had never come together.

Victor though, being the mature adult of everyone as it seemed, said nothing with what he felt was a very dignified silence.

‘Oh!’ Mila squealed, clapping her gloved hands together and blue eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘Victor! You’re blushing!’

‘Mila, please! Victor Nikiforov does not blush!’

‘ _Oi! Prekrati’ spletnichat’, mu’dak!’_

The foul language came from the rapidly approaching Yuri Plisetsky, who was the very picture of teenage intolerance as he skated up to Victor, verdant eyes narrowed to a sharp point from beneath his long, blond hair and pouting profusely.

Before Victor could even open his mouth to scold, Yakov stepped up for him, gravelly voice echoing through the rink from the far-side.

‘Hey! You know the rules! I don't want to hear another Russian word out of your mouth, Yura! I will not have your English getting sloppy before the competition tomorrow!’ he shouted from the awning, overhead fluorescents shining off his bald head. As Victor watched, their eyes met briefly. Victor looked away sharply.

‘We’re in Moscow anyway!’ Yuri shouted back, equally loud and even more abrasive as his voice had yet to break fully. Victor rolled his eyes as Yuri stomped one of his skates on the ice’s surface. ‘So who really cares?!’

_‘Delay to, chto tebe skazano!'_

‘How come you can speak normally?!’ Victor turned in his skates, most certainly not interested in another famous Plisetsky tantrum, but before he could get anywhere, a small hand grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘Oi! You said you would help me with my combinations today!’

‘Did I?’ Victor replied airily, having absolutely no memory of doing so. Yuri tsked loudly, crossing his pale, skinny arms.

‘You’d forget your head if it wasn’t already too big.’

‘Ah, Yura. You wound me,’ Victor said, ruffling Yuri’s blond locks and loving the annoyed growling he got in return for it.

  
As Yakov watched, unusually silent, from the awning, Victor had Yuri go through his combination. He wanted to up the difficulty, which was typical really. But from his observation, Victor felt that the technical wasn't really where Yuri should be focusing his energy.

Yuri twirled into a perfect loop just as Victor’s phone started ringing from his pocket. He took it out, saw it was Yuuri calling and suddenly he felt a wave of nervous energy flood through him.

‘Oi! Pay attention, old man’

‘Ah, just one moment!’ Victor said, turning to take the call but Yuri was upon him instantly, snatching the phone right out of Victor’s hand. Really, it was impressive how fast Yuri could be.

‘You've been ignoring me for this phone all week. Longer than that. Who keeps calling you?’ Yuri asked, not looking at the phone and instead pointing it accusingly at Victor. ‘You don't have any friends.’

‘Thanks,’ Victor deadpanned, reaching out for his phone before it rang out, but Yuri tugged it out of his reach.

‘You shouldn't keep getting distracted,’ Yuri said, embodying Yakov so much in that moment that it scared Victor a little. Victor rolled his eyes. ‘This is why everyone says you're retiring.’

‘Is it? I thought it was the grey hair. Now, give me my phone, Yura.’

Victor snatched the phone from Yuri’s hand, scowling at the teenager with what he hoped was a very stern look. Regardless if it was or not, Yuri seemed completely unaffected, baring his teeth to Victor before flouncing away in a petulant glide.

Victor answered the phone, skating idly towards the awning as he did.

‘Yuuri!’

‘Hello, Victor,’ Yuuri replied, polite as ever and Victor felt the excitement rise up inside of him at the sound of Yuuri’s voice. ‘I'm just getting into a taxi now. Will I meet you at the hotel?’

‘No, come to me!’ Victor said, before he dropped his head into a hand. That sounded a little too eager. Yuuri made a small noise over the phone.

‘Um. I haven't changed, or anything.’

‘I'm sure you look fine,’ Victor said, aiming for a much more reserved tone. ‘Why would you need to change?’

‘It's just- uh, never mind. I'll come to you. Where are you?’ Yuuri asked, thanking someone in the background for something. Victor listened to the shuffling on the phone, watching the arena staff move through the stands.

‘At the Megasports Arena.’

‘Still?’ Yuuri said, clearly struggling with something in the background. His suitcase maybe.

‘I didn't become a world champion by accident you know,’ Victor teased. ‘Please come. I'd like to show you something.’

‘I'll come,’ Yuuri replied, sounding quite sure about it and Victor hoped he was smiling. He liked Yuuri’s smile. It made his cheeks round and it always reached his eyes. It made Victor’s heart tug in a very pleasant way.

‘Perfect. I can't wait to see you,’ Victor said, hanging up the phone. He stared down at the screen for a moment, feeling nervous suddenly.

Would Yuuri suspect anything when he arrived? Maybe he'd be too tired from the flight. _Hope so_ , Victor thought and then felt bad, as he didn't want to be wishing Yuuri to be unwell. But it would likely make the grand gesture he had planned go a lot smoother if he could keep Yuuri in the dark just a little bit longer. Really, it was no worse than Yuuri doing it in the first place.

(Right?)

Victor didn't have much time to consider further however, as he was dragged back into the centre of the rink to watch the other Yuri in his life carve Salchows into the ice like he was actively trying to hurt it. They'd really need to think of something about the name thing if Victor’s plans with Yuuri were to come to any kind of fruition.

‘You know you're supposed to enjoy skating,’ Victor said as Yuri turned to face him after another perfect landing. Yuri’s green eyes were like bottled glass as he glared.

‘What's that supposed to mean?’

‘I'm not feeling your Agape,’ Victor said pensively, tapping a finger to his lips as he tried to think of a way to put whatever seemed to be wrong with Yuri into words. ‘Or anything, really. Except your ambition, maybe.’

Yuri kicked one of his Harlick’s across the ice petulantly. He tossed his head, blond hair swinging. ‘Who cares about that? What did you think about the combination?’

‘Oh. I wasn't paying attention to that,’ Victor replied, still thinking on Yuri’s failing in performance. If he couldn't manage here in training, Victor wasn't sure how he'd do tomorrow. Yuri groaned loudly, tiny hands balling into fists.

He opened his mouth, (no doubt to say something rude), but wasn't given the chance as Mila called Victor from where she had perched herself at the rink-wall.

‘Victor! Yuuri is here!’

Victor turned and started skating, eyes skimming past Mila to the familiar figure that was hovering just by the entrance. As Victor skated, Yuuri walked up closer to the side of the rink. Mila winked at Victor as she skated away and Victor couldn't stop the smile he gave back to her.

Yuuri’s face was covered with a surgical mask, which was a bit odd but with his glasses perched over it Yuuri looked quite endearing. Once Victor made it to the wall, Yuuri pulled the mask down.

‘Hi,’ was all he said but Victor grinned back at him, delighted to physically have Yuuri standing in front of him. The smile twitched, however, as Victor took Yuuri in.

Victor had so many questions. Did the arena remind Yuuri of Sochi? Will watching the competition tomorrow remind Yuuri of the last time he was in Russia? Why didn't he tell Victor? Why?

But Victor shook it off. It could wait. Everything could wait just a small bit more because Yuuri was looking up at him with his big, brown eyes and Victor was melting.

‘Hello, Yuuri,’ Victor said, reaching out over the plexiglass to touch Yuuri’s arm. He had intended to pull Yuuri forward, into a kiss maybe. But something stopped him. Instead, Victor just took Yuuri in from the small space between them.

Yuuri looked so relaxed and nothing at all like his usual self. Or at least, Eros’ usual self. His jeans were slightly ill-fitted, bulky brown jacket topped off with a thick blue scarf. His hair was buried under a beanie of some kind, shoulders slumped with exhaustion under the weight of a gear-bag and small satchel. It seemed that was all he had brought with him for the weekend. Victor squeezed Yuuri’s arm, meeting Yuuri’s gaze again.

‘I like your hat. The cat ears are cute,’ Victor teased and Yuuri blushed, reaching up and snatching the hat from his head. His fingers were red from cold.

‘Sorry! I forgot I was wearing it-’

‘Why are you sorry? I said it was cute,’ Victor continued, loving Yuuri’s sheepish smile as he held the hat to his chest defensively. Victor was very aware of the eyes on his back. He felt a nervousness he never did usually. Suddenly, the vague plan he’d concocted on hearing Yuuri’s voice seemed a tad impulsive.

‘Are you almost finished?’ Yuuri asked quietly, brown eyes moving over Victor’s shoulder. Victor saw as they then went wide, hearing the damning sound of someone skating behind him.

‘Who's this?’ Yuri snapped as he halted next to Victor. Victor sighed, releasing Yuuri to face the other properly.

‘This is Yuuri Katsuki. He's come to watch me skate.’

If looks could kill, Victor was sure he'd have died from the one Yuri was now giving him.

‘Another Yuri?’ Yuri gave Victor’s Yuuri a very disapproving once over. ‘What are you doing? Collecting us? This one’s a bit fat though don't-’

‘Yura!’ Victor snapped, not at all impressed with Yuri’s words. Yuri gave Victor and Yuuri one more scathing glance.

‘Whatever. Yakov said one more lap, then go shower. We’re going for dinner soon,’ Yuri said, stomping one of his skates to shake off build-up. ‘You can talk to your piggy later.’

‘Ah. I should probably head to the hotel anyway,’ Yuuri said, voice meeker than Victor had ever heard it. Victor felt an unusual intolerance for Yuri’s ill-manners. He didn't like the sound of his Yuuri sounding so small.

‘Do what you like,’ Yuri griped, skating off again.

Victor shook his head, reaching across the awning to take one of Yuuri’s hands. It felt cold, even through Victor’s gloves. ‘No! Please, come with us. I wanted you here to meet everyone.’

Yuuri’s face was pink from the Moscow snow, so it was very obvious when it paled.

‘I don't think that's a good idea.’

Victor fumbled, tightening his grip on Yuuri’s hand. ‘Please. It's only dinner, with my coach and my team.’

Yuuri looked over Victor’s shoulder again, down towards the corner Yakov was no doubt lurking in. ‘Your coach didn't seem that fond of me the last time.’

‘Well, you're dressed this time,’ Victor joked, taking some pleasure in Yuuri’s little frown. Victor squeezed Yuuri’s hand. ‘You must be hungry after the flight.’

Yuuri shifted on his feet, other hand balling up his adorable cat-eared beanie.

Victor really wanted this. But he wasn't sure how else to ask for it. The thought ran through his brain to point out that Yuuri was here under the pretence of being paid for his time, so it made sense for him to do as Victor liked. But the idea of saying such a thing, even when not meaning it, left a bad taste in Victor’s mouth. Yuuri was not Victor’s employee. Victor wanted Yuuri to be comfortable, to choose for himself. He really did.

But he also really wanted Yuuri to give Victor’s life a chance.

‘We’ll eat at the hotel restaurant,’ Victor offered, waiting for Yuuri to meet his gaze again. ‘Then if you're tired, we can just go to bed.’

‘You don't have to do that. What if you team would like to eat somewhere else?’ Yuuri said but Victor waved him off.

‘They won’t mind, I promise,’ he said, biting his lip with the strange anxiety that had found its way into him since Yuuri’s arrival. He asked once more. ‘Please.’

Slowly, Yuuri nodded. Victor brought Yuuri’s hand up to his lips, leaving a kiss there.

‘Thank you.’

It was an opening. A small one, but one all the same and Victor was more grateful than he could possibly ever say.

 

* * *

 

Yuri Plisetsky was everything Phichit’s numerous gossip sources claimed him to be. And then some.  
  
Yuuri took another sip of his water, desperately wishing to be anywhere, _anywhere_ else but where he was. Which was sat at a table in the restaurant of the Renaissance Hotel, dwarfed by the overwhelmingly foreign language and being glared at by Russia’s newest boast. There was something distinctly unnerving about the way Plisetsky watched Yuuri from across the table. He was sat low in his seat, arms crossed and the hoodie of his bright blue hoodie still pulled up and over his bright, blond hair. His green eyes were narrowed and focused on Yuuri like he was something Victor had dragged in from the street on the end of his shoe and now Plisetsky had to deal with it.  
  
As the evening went on, the more Yuuri was starting to agree with that assessment. 

There was something simmering just beneath Yuuri’s skin. Bubbling, pressured anxiety just from being back in Russia. Four years ago, Yuuri had sworn to himself when boarding the plane back to Detroit that he’d never set foot in the country again. That he would leave skating and Victor Nikiforov in the Russian snow and never turn his head in their direction as long as he lived.  
  
Of course, he only half-committed to that promise.  
  
But the whole journey, Yuuri had felt sick. The nausea of his nerves had churned inside him. He knew it was stupid, irrational. A country could not hold Yuuri accountable for his failings four years ago. Yet as he had watched the tiny, cartoon plane on his seat-screen track his movement towards Moscow, Yuuri felt more and more self-conscious. Like those sitting around him had been staring. Like when he got his bag from baggage, the Cyrillic signs around him were really accusations Yuuri couldn’t even read to defend himself from.  
  
He knew all of that was insane. Yuuri _knew_ that. But it still tapped away in his head. An incessant, numbing beat.  
  
Then, Victor had called him. And everything seemed just that little bit less terrible.  
  
Seeing Victor again was like Yuuri was coming home to something he didn’t even realise he’d been missing. It soothed more than the ache Yuuri felt at being apart from Victor; it brought a quiet to him as he saw Victor’s tall, strong body turn in graceful circles on the ice. Like it had all these years, watching Victor skate narrowed Yuuri’s focus down until the noise in his head faded, even if just for a moment.  
  
It was a nice moment. While it had lasted. But now-

  
Yuuri had been on many different kinds of bookings, and by extension many different kinds of getaways. From intimate hideaways in Toronto, to weekends in Chicago punctuated with galas- but this was so far removed from any of those that Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure how to class it in his head. With most clients, Yuuri was an accessory. An extension of his date’s, merely present to look nice and speak quietly if spoken to.  
  
Meeting the family, (or team, as it were), with an arm around his shoulders, was not the usual situation. Being face-to-face with a storming fifteen-year old as part of such was most certainly not either.  
  
They’d only just sat down, the conversation almost exclusively on the upcoming competition. Mila and Victor were doing most of the talking, accents seemingly fed by the other as Yuuri found it difficult to follow most of what they were saying. Victor had held Yuuri’s hand throughout being seated, a grounding touch that Yuuri found himself clinging to. He could feel the space between his knuckles still aching with the pressure he’d forced on Victor’s fingers.  
  
Though Victor and Mila were speaking English throughout, it was almost incomprehensible, narrow _w’_ s and sharp _g’_ s surrounding Yuuri like white noise. Yakov Feltsman and Plisetsky hadn’t bothered at all, slipping into a muttered stream of Russian as they had walked through the restaurant that felt targeted. Like the very words were landing on Yuuri’s back as Victor had guided him to their seats.  
  
Yuuri wanted so very much to be away. He found himself staring at the door more often than he probably should’ve. Now, in the round corner of the large booth they’d all been piled into, Yuuri tried to keep himself busy by constantly rearranging the cutlery in front of him as they awaited their food. Victor had ordered for both of them, assuring Yuuri that he’d like whatever Victor had picked. Yuuri just nodded along, knowing he felt too uneasy to eat anything regardless.

Instead, Yuuri straightened his fork. Then he tilted his knife. Then he lay both flat. Victor spied a glance, his eyes catching the light like a coin, causing Yuuri to stop fidgeting immediately. Victor slipped a hand across the table, taking Yuuri’s and lacing their fingers together. Like it was nothing. Like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. Yuuri lost his breath, eyes flittering around the table to gauge the reaction from Victor’s team.  
  
Yakov’s thick, grey eyebrows came together, causing a lump to form in Yuuri’s throat. His eyes were fixed on where Victor was touching Yuuri. Mila either didn’t notice or didn’t care, waving a hand dramatically as she continued her story to the table. And still, Plisetsky just stared from across the table, all sharp accusation.  
  
Yuuri felt naked. He was sitting in this strange restaurant, as Victor’s date for lack of a better word and it should be something Yuuri could handle. He’d done this with a hundred different clients, a hundred times before. But without the silk of Eros or the blur of his contacts, Yuuri felt exposed. With the hand Victor wasn’t holding, Yuuri tugged on the end of his blue cardigan, twisting it up over his fingers.  
  
‘What do you do?’ Plisetsky suddenly snapped, interrupting Mila from her story. Yuuri started, tightening his grip on Victor’s hand. He felt Victor move his thumb, felt as Victor started to move it in slow circles. Plisetsky’s English was like Victor’s. Sharp and high.  
  
‘Um. I’m sorry?’ Yuuri said, flushing when he heard how meek his voice sounded. Plisetsky was _fifteen,_ Yuuri should not be afraid of him. But it was very hard to remember that with the kid himself growling across the sparkling tumblers and silverware.  
  
Plisetsky made a noise of impatience, ignoring Mila’s chiding squeal as he continued to talk over her. ‘Like what’s your job. You’re not a skater, are you?’  
  
Yuuri shook his head quickly. ‘No. Definitely not.’  
  
Plisetsky narrowed his eyes at him for a moment, before he turned his head towards Yakov. What he said next was in rapid Russian, mouth twisting into a smirk and even though Yuuri didn’t understand a word, he knew when he was being laughed at. Yakov gave a steady reply, as incomprehensible as whatever Plisetsky had said.  
  
‘I thought we were saving Russian for after the competition,’ Victor said coolly, tone causing Yuuri to look at him. Victor was smiling, but there was no warmth there. His teeth flashed, chin tilting in Yakov’s direction. His soothing circles on the back of Yuuri’s hand had stopped. Yuuri met Mila’s eye. She smiled, but it did nothing to undo the tight knot of worry Yuuri had tied up inside of himself.  
  
Yakov made a gruff noise, giving Victor a stern stare, but he said nothing else. Plisetsky, however, whined loudly. He threw his head back, dislodging his hood and revealing the blond of his hair. It swept around his face in a way that vividly reminded Yuuri of Victor when he’d been fifteen. Yuuri had only just come to know Victor then. God, that was so long ago.  
  
Suddenly feeling too hot, Yuuri untangled his free hand from his cardigan and reached over for his water.  
  
‘So what is he anyway?’ Yuri said, English thick so Yuuri had to strain to understand for a moment. It was almost like he was doing it on purpose. ‘Your boyfriend?’

Yuuri blushed, coughing into his water. Victor squeezed his hand and Yuuri put the glass down, noticing too late that he was shaking. The glass trembled as he put it back on the table. Yuuri looked around the room. He couldn’t see anyone who wasn’t white, couldn’t hear anything that wasn’t Russian. He felt like he was drowning, the dim lights blacking the room out at the corners-

‘He has a name,’ Victor said, avoiding the question blithely. Plisetsky bared his teeth.

‘I'm not calling him that.'

  
_‘Yuratchka,’_ Yakov said and Yuuri jumped from the tone of his voice. Low and scolding. Yakov met Yuuri’s eye. His frown deepened and Yuuri looked away, nerves returning in full force. What Yakov said next was in Russian and whatever it was it inspired a fevered response from Plisetsky. They went back and forth, Victor scolding once again.  
  
‘Please! You’re being so rude, _both_ of you!’  
  
Mila contributed, her Russian bright and squeaky to Yuuri’s ear, but really, what did he know? He thought he heard his name, but he wasn’t sure. Plisetsky turned red, snapping back at her. Mila shrugged happily, suddenly twisting in her seat and half leaning across Victor entirely to address Yuuri with a big smile on her face, red hair flaming.  
  
‘It’s agreed!’ she said, like Yuuri could somehow have followed any of what just happened. ‘You’re Yuuri, and this little ball of angst is Yurio!’ Mila winked, tossing her head back at Plisetsky who looked just about ready to pick up one of the knives from the table and stick into the back of her head.  
  
Yuuri gaped for a moment before he managed to catch up. He went to wave his hands in surrender, but Victor refused to let him go so the movement was quite aborted. ‘You really don’t have to do that! I can be Yurio-’  
  
‘Absolutely not,’ Victor said just as Plisetsky cried out; ‘Yeah, you be Yurio!’  
  
Yuuri looked between them, wishing the floor would just open and swallow him.  
  
Before anything else could happen, Yuuri was startled by his phone ringing. Yuuri let Victor go, reaching down and around to fish his phone out from the satchel he’d brought. When he got it out, he noticed it was from a unknown number. Frowning, Yuuri turned over to face Victor, excusing himself quickly. With one fluid movement, Yuuri then picked his satchel up off the ground and made his way towards the bathrooms across the restaurant.  
  
Once safely inside, Yuuri gave the bathroom a quick glance. Empty. He brought his phone up, noticing he’d missed the first call but now the unknown number was calling again. Something cold settled inside him, heavy in his stomach. But Yuuri hit _accept_ and put the phone to his ear.  
  
‘Hello?’  
  
‘Eros, listen to me, kid-’  
  
_‘How did you get this number?’_ Yuuri hissed, panic alight inside him like a spark as Robert’s voice came down the line. Yuuri threw his satchel up on the sink counter, scrambling with one hand to find his work phone.  
  
‘Kid, I don’t have time to explain,’ Robert said, his normally chevalier tone abandoned for something Yuuri couldn’t recognise. ‘I need you to listen to me, okay?’  
  
‘I’m hanging up,’ Yuuri announced, going to do just that as Robert cried down the line for him not to. Yuuri paused, just for a moment. ‘I didn’t give you this number. How did you get it?’  
  
‘I’m trying to tell you now!’ Robert said, sounding rushed and muffled. Like he was whispering. Yuuri looked at his watch. It was only just gone ten back in Detroit. Something wasn’t right. Yuuri thought of the last time he saw Robert. The man had appeared so understanding, but the more Yuuri thought about it, the more he realised how much he’d actually confessed to Robert. That had been so _stupid!_ _  
__  
_ Yuuri should’ve known better.  
  
Fear, cold and metallic in the back of his throat as bile rose, seeped through Yuuri with heavy weight. His heart hammered in his chest, pulse throbbing. Robert was rambling, something about being at his office and he knew he was being inappropriate, but Yuuri wasn’t really taking any of it in. Yuuri stared at himself in the mirror, shaking his head when he saw his own panicked expression looking back at him.  
  
‘I’m not doing this, Robert. Goodbye.’  
  
‘Eros, wait-!’  
  
Yuuri hung up.  
  
Breathing heavily, Yuuri looked down at his phone for a moment. It lit up immediately, same unknown ID. Yuuri hit _decline_ with both hands, chest heaving as panic wracked through him like some great, terrible wave. Yuuri dropped the phone on the counter loudly _._ He stared down at it, watched as it lit up again. And again. Yuuri snatched the phone back, blocking the number.  
  
Yuuri also pulled his professional phone out of his satchel, the edges of it already peering out from where Yuuri had struggled to find it a moment ago. He opened the Blackberry, scrolling through his texts with Robert over the last few weeks. There was nothing in them. Not one slip-up or accidental location turned on. There was no way Yuuri could see how Robert could’ve found his number. He had to have had Yuuri looked into. Or worse. Was there worse?  
  
Yuuri would have to call Sophia. Soon. He’d need her to check Robert out again. Had he become too attached? Had his wife found out? Yuuri couldn’t think of anything else that would cause Robert to go to such lengths to get into contact, especially when he knew Yuuri was out of the country. God, Yuuri had been so stupid to tell him that!  
  
‘What are you doing, loser?’  
  
Yuuri gasped, surprised. He looked up from his phones to see Yuri Plisetsky in the mirror, watching Yuuri with a frown from the doorway of the bathroom. Yuuri turned to face him, holding both phones to his chest protectively.  
  
‘N-nothing. Just work,’ Yuuri said quietly, stammering. Plisetsky jerked his head up, seemingly trying to appear taller. It didn’t exactly work, but Yuuri found himself shrinking back against the counter anyway as Plisetsky stepped into the bathroom properly, heavy door swinging shut behind him.  
  
Plisetsky shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, the blue of it almost luminous in the lighting of the bathroom. Yuuri swallowed thickly, anxiety swirling around with the latent panic of what had just happened. Tying all his bones up into knots, so he couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything as Plisetsky approached him. The punk walked right up to Yuuri, staring up at him with his eyes the colour of acid. Just as burning, too.  
  
‘You know, a long time ago Victor made me a promise,’ he said, English sounding like it had edges Plisetsky wanted Yuuri to cut himself on. Plisetsky tilted his head, the motion like some feral cat and Yuuri was the mouse it was about to set it’s claws into. ‘He’s pretty forgetful. So don’t get your hopes up, it’ll just be a matter of time before he forgets you, too.’  
  
Yuuri didn’t know what to say to that, stunned by the rudeness and severity of the words. He’d only just met Yuri Plisetsky, this was their first conversation together and Plisetsky was- threatening him? Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, nerves shaking his brain around inside his head like a stone.  
  
‘I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand?’  
  
‘Victor promised me he’d be my coach when he retires next season,’ Plisetsky said, grinning up meanly. Yuuri felt his stomach drop. _Retire?_ ‘So I’m just warning you, that’s all. He’s not going to let some pretty-boy American distract him. Or at least, _I_ won’t let you distract him.’  
  
Yuuri tried to stand up a bit straighter, make himself look broader and less easy to intimidate. Who did Plisetsky think he was? But Yuuri couldn’t shake Robert’s voice from his head, fear and nerves likely inspiring the curt snap he threw at Plisetsky by way of a response.  
  
‘What happens between Victor and I is none of your business,’ Yuuri said coldly, frowning down at Plisetsky and hoping the teenager couldn’t see that Yuuri was still shaking. ‘You’re just a kid.’  
  
‘Hey, don’t talk to me like I’m a child!’ Plisetsky retorted with fury, a little loud for where they were and Yuuri threw a glance at the door, half-expecting someone to come in and check on the noise. Plisetsky snarled, bringing Yuuri’s attention back to him with a jump. ‘What are you even doing here anyway? You moving to Russia?’  
  
Yuuri felt his neck heat up. ‘Ah, no?’  
  
‘Didn’t think so,’ Plisetsky smirked, giving Yuuri a once-over. ‘Better not get used to having Victor around then. There’s no way I’m going to let him run off to the States just because he misses your dick-’  
  
‘Hey!’ Yuuri snapped, mortified by Plisetsky’s language and his bluntness. Yuuri lifted a hand, fingers still wrapped tight around the phone, in preparation for a scold. But Plisetsky just looked at the phone, eyes narrowing as he looked to Yuuri’s other hand as well.  
  
‘Why do you have two phones?’ Plisetsky asked, curiosity lacing his ill-tempered tone. Yuuri brought both phones back to his chest, a beat of silence passing between them before Yuuri turned on his heel, shoving both devices back into his satchel.  
  
‘One’s my Russian sim,’ Yuuri lied, deliberately not looking at Plisetsky. He went to leave. ‘Now if you excuse me.’  
  
Yuuri bolted out of the bathroom, making a beeline back to the booth.  
  
Victor was talking with Mila again. Yuuri only dully noticed that Victor was seemingly ignoring Yakov entirely. The food had arrived in his absence, but Yuuri could think of nothing worse than eating. His stomach felt like it was full of something molten and toxic. The idea of food had his throat closing up. Yuuri approached and set his satchel down, slipping back onto his seat at the edge of the booth.  
  
Victor was looking at him immediately. His blue eyes suddenly deepened, concern swimming in them like a current. Yuuri looked away, reaching for his water and taking the glass, but not bringing himself to drink anything.  
  
‘Yuuri?’ Victor asked, putting his fork down and reaching out to put a hand on Yuuri’s thigh. Yuuri sighed at the touch, unable to stop himself. It was like all his panic was the lightning of some great, terrible storm and Victor was his grounding rod. The tension slipped out of Yuuri, down through the point where Victor was touching him. ‘All good, _miliy?’_ _  
__  
_ Yuuri nodded, trying to smile as he met Victor’s gaze. ‘I’m fine. Jetlag, I think. I’m afraid I’m not feeling up to much food.’  
  
Victor watched Yuuri’s face for a moment, beautiful cheeks pale in the light and eyes bright. Then Victor was moving, slowing guiding Yuuri out of his seat first so Victor could follow.  
  
‘Victor? What are you-’  
  
Victor turned to the table, addressing both Mila and Yakov in Russian. Yuuri stood as Victor moved around him, picking Yuuri’s bag up for him and draping it across his own, broad shoulder. Yuuri felt like he was dreaming, caught in some strange daze and Victor turned to face Yuuri. He reached out, taking Yuuri’s chin between two soft fingers. Yuuri melted into the touch, closing his eyes.  
  
‘Let’s get you upstairs. A bath and maybe then sleep, yes?’  
  
Yuuri nodded, those two things sounding beyond heavenly right now. Especially with Victor.  
  
Unable to contain himself, Yuuri leaned up onto his toes to kiss Victor. Their lips met in a soft brush, Yuuri breathing in the scent of whatever spice was in Victor’s food and the faint salt of sweat. Yuuri pressed a little harder, just enough to feel Victor’s lips part the slightest bit before he pulled back, looking up the the dusting of pink along Victor’s high cheekbones.

It was a move, one Yuuri used often in boyfriend experience roles. But this time felt different. It should've been practiced, familiar and easy. But looking at Victor now, Yuuri felt more along the lines of an exposed nerve.

‘You’re wonderful,’ Yuuri said, a calm coming over him as Victor took his hand. Victor smiled, squeezing Yuuri’s hand before leading him out of the restaurant and out into the lobby.  
  
As they walked, Yuuri felt the worry ease in him. Whatever was happening with Robert, that was home, in America. Too far from where he was now. Yuuri could fix it, whatever it was, when he got back.  
  
Because right now, Yuuri had Victor. And that was all that mattered.

 

* * *

  
Yuri knew exactly one thing for certain about the guy Victor had dragged across the ocean to impose on them- he was not worthy of someone as talented as Victor. Even if Victor was the worst person _ever._    
  
Yuri wasn’t an idiot. He could see the way Victor looked at this Katsuki, like the loser hung the moon in the sky from the tips of his fingers. Yuri couldn’t understand himself. He supposed Katsuki wasn’t _awful_ looking. But he was nothing compared to the people that usually surrounded them. If anything, Katsuki was a bit round at the hips, cheeks full. If Victor wasn’t obviously going through so much trouble for the guy, Yuri would’ve thought Victor was settling. And settling _hard._  
  
He pulled his hood up and over his head again as he, Mila and Yakov walked out into the street, snow drifting down from the sky. It was still early enough in the evening, just past six and Yakov was going to drop Yuri to his grandfather’s. It wasn’t often Yuri got the chance to see his Dedushka, living in the skater’s dorms back in St. Petersburg and he was looking forward to getting back to his own bed. He didn’t see why Mila had to come along.  
  
‘Well, Yuuri is lovely,’ Mila said, English grating Yuri’s already withered patience with the evening. ‘Victor really found himself a sweetheart.’

‘I didn't like him,’ Yuri said, truly meaning it. There was something about that guy that set Yuri’s nerves on edge. He was too jittery, eyes always flickering in a way that made it look like he was some sort of startled animal. It wasn't normal.  
  
He thought of the two phones Katsuki had, clinging to them like they were more precious than gold. Yuri kicked a clump of snow, frowning down at it.

‘Ah, but you don't like anyone!’ Mila teased, punching Yuri’s shoulder which in turn spurred him to snap at her in Russian. Mila ignored him, turning her stupid doe eyes back to Yakov, who walked slightly ahead of them. ‘What did you think, coach? He’s nice, isn’t he?’

Yakov made a noncommittal grunting sound from behind his scarf, eyes fixed forward through the light snow. A car passed, it’s headlights casting Yakov into stark relief for a moment. He looked old. Yuri waited for Yakov to agree with him. Yuri had seen Yakov’s face at that dinner table, he knew- Yakov wasn't any happier with this American Yuuri than Yuri was.

‘I think we need to focus on the Rostelecom Cup and not Victor’s silly follies,’ Yakov groused and Yuri smirked at Mila in triumph. Mila’s pout of disappointment lasted only a moment however before she continued as if Yakov hadn't said anything.

‘You're both so terrible!’ she lamented, raising her gloved hands like she were to wipe her hands of them. ‘We should be happy for Victor. Yuuri is wonderful.’

‘He is not!’ Yuri snapped, thinking of said man’s chubby cheeks and thick glasses. He wasn't an athlete, obviously. He had seemed out of his depth at dinner with the skating discussion, eyes panicked when Yuuri had challenged him on what he thought of Victor’s bracket turn at practice. What could a guy like that possibly have to offer Victor that his friends couldn't?

Yuri flinched at his own thinking. On second thought, he had a suspicion on that and had decided he didn't want to know. Any thoughts of _Victor_ in that situation were just- _ugh,_ too fucked up to even consider. Honestly, Victor was embarrassing in ways Yuri hoped he never learned.

‘Wonderful or not, it would seem it doesn't matter,’ Yakov said gravely as they approached the car, fishing for his keys in his pocket. Yuri frowned at that while Mila just nodded along. He looked between them, biting the inside of his cheek. What did she get that he didn't?

‘What does that mean?’’ he asked as Yakov opened the car for them, then _‘Oi!’_ when Mila shoved him out of the way for the front seat.

Yakov didn't answer Yuri until they were all settled in the car. Yuri leaned down in his seat behind Mila, (thanks to the hag herself), kicking his legs into the back of Mila’s seat bitterly. Mila huffed in that high, pitchy way of hers as he did so, causing Yuri to grin. He did it again.

‘Victor is twenty-seven now, Yura,’

‘So?’ Yuri said gruffly, sticking his tongue out as Mila threw a filthy look over the headrest.

‘So he's thinking about his future,’ Yakov continued, turning the keys so the car sprung to life, heater humming and lights on. ‘A man his age. It's normal to consider settling down.’  
  
Yuri felt his stomach turn. _Settle down?_ From the way Yakov said it, he obviously meant outside of skating. Yuri clicked his tongue.  Victor should aim for better. He was capable of better. Yuri sulked down further into his seat, digging the heels of his shoes into Mila’s back and not getting nearly enough satisfaction from her whining about it.  
  
‘He won’t have time if he wants to get his shit together for the World’s. He only barely made it into the Grand Prix,’ Yuri said darkly, thinking of a wobble Victor had when he landed his signature quadruple flip at the Nebelhorn Trophy. Yuri had nearly bitten through his own lip as Victor’s knee had bent just that smallest bit too much, his dip into the counter too weighted. Almost unnoticeable, but Yuri had seen. It wasn’t like Victor to not pay attention like that. It still made Yuri feel uneasy, though Victor had clearly pulled himself somewhat together at Skate America.  
  
Yakov looked behind him as he pulled out of the parking space, eyes shadowed under his fedora.  
  
‘I think Victor’s priorities are changing,’ Yakov said quietly, facing forward again as he steered the car into momentum.  
  
‘I think it’s good. Victor’s been miserable for ages,’ Mila said sagely, like she had any idea. Yuri _tsked_ at her, kicking again as she squealed at him in protest. Mila didn’t know anything. Yuri was Victor’s student, it was Yuri Victor choreographed for. No one knew him better than Yuri did.  
  
‘He hasn’t been miserable. He was just being dramatic,’ Yuri said though he wasn’t sure how much he believed it. He thought of the long mornings he and Victor spent together, before the rink was even open to the public yet. He thought of the length of Victor’s arms as he spun his way through a step sequence, skates coughing up ice as he went. The movements were always technically perfect.  
  
Technically.  
  
‘Can’t you just be happy Victor found someone? He’s never had someone he liked this much!’  
  
‘Victor’s an idiot _,’_ Yuri griped, looking out the window. The snow passed in a flurry, Moscow lights blurred and moving in streaks of gold and blue. ‘Besides, there’s something about that guy. Don’t you think he’s-’ Yuri stopped, unsure of the right word. He thought through his vocabulary, but couldn’t find anything, instead settling on; _‘-_ _zhalkiy?’_  
  
‘Ah, Yurio!’ Mila scolded and Yuri’s blood boiled at the nickname. ‘Don’t be so cruel.’  
  
‘If you feel that way, I suggest keeping it to yourself,’ Yakov said, curbing Yuri’s scathing retort before he could spit it out at Mila’s unbearably smug face. Yuri made an aborted noise in the back of his throat, but Yakov met his gaze through the rear-view mirror. ‘Victor is a grown man. He will make his own decisions.’  
  
‘His decisions are stupid,’ Yuri grumbled, looking back out the window.  
  
‘Even so, there’s nothing we can do about it,’ Yakov said, his voice sounding strangely distant. Yuri glanced back at him, but Yakov was focused entirely on the road.  
  
Settling back in his seat, Yuri thought about Katsuki. His narrow hands, particularly, how they had been constantly moving. The man’s whole body had been buzzing, nerves spilling out over him in stammering sentences. Yuri thought of the two phones again. There was something- not right about that, though Yuri couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was that bothered him so much about it.  
  
_Whatever. It’s Victor’s problem._ Yuri shook his head, instead trying to focus on seeing Dedushka. He hoped his grandfather had made something, preferably pirozhki. That dinner at the hotel had been considerably unsatisfying. For many reasons.  
  
But something still ate Yuri, his thoughts constantly circling back to Katsuki’s eyes, wide and shimmering with panic in the bathroom. It was pathetic, embarrassing really. Honestly, what did Victor even see in a guy like that?

* * *

  
Yuuri awoke from his dreams with a start.

He had dreamed of the onsen, the smell of the bath salts Victor had gotten for him permeating the dream like some strange fog. Yuuri felt like he had been drowning, submerged beneath the surface of the water. He didn't remember much else.

Slowly, the hotel room came into focus. He was facing the window, blue light through the curtains they hadn't bothered to close properly. He could hear the odd car, sometimes a voice. But most importantly, he could hear Victor breathing behind him. The latent anxiety his nightmare had given him faded.

Yuuri rolled over in the bed, facing Victor now but closing his eyes with the heavy exhaustion he still felt from the flight. Sleep hovered just on the edge, he could feel it settle in his bones, body heavy as he shuffled a little closer to Victor’s warmth. Yuuri wasn't able to stop the small noise of satisfaction he made when he felt Victor’s hand come down on his shoulder, fingers circling there. Almost ticklish.

‘You're staring.’

‘Your eyes aren’t even open,’ Victor said but Yuuri knew he was smiling despite that. Yuuri put his hands under the pillow, rolling onto his side properly and moving closer still.

‘They don't have to be,’ Yuuri said, smirking. He opened his eyes, blinked a few times to adjust to the dark. Victor came into focus, hair catching the streetlight that crept in from the window. He looked other-worldly in the half-light, skin pale and eyes bright. ‘I could feel it.’

‘Cocky.’

‘Look who's talking.’

‘And funny, too,’ Victor teased, hand trailing up Yuuri’s shoulder, along his neck. Victor’s fingers tucked into the hair behind Yuuri’s ear. He pushed it back, movement soft. Yuuri leant into it. ‘You were mumbling in your sleep.’

Yuuri’s blood went cold. ‘O-oh? What did I say?’

‘I don't know, it wasn't in English,’ Victor said with a small huff of laughter. Yuuri relaxed instantly. But Victor said nothing else.

‘What is it?’ Yuuri asked after a long moment, watching Victor’s face which was almost marblesque in its pensive expression. ‘What are you thinking about?’

‘It’s nothing,’ Victor said quietly, like he was trying to keep his voice down for Yuuri. His accent gave the word a _k_ at the end, clinking like glass. Affection bloomed, dizzying in its potency as Yuuri realised this. But Yuuri couldn't look past the small crease of thought on Victor’s brow.

‘It must be something, to keep you up so late. I have an excuse. I'm jet-lagged,’ Yuuri said, slipping a hand free from under the pillow and reaching out to touch Victor’s chin. Felt the small stubble there, almost invisible. Victor’s eyes fluttered close at the touch, the movement turning Yuuri’s heart around like clockwork.

‘Can-’ Victor started, then stopped. He bent his head down, kissing Yuuri’s fingers. Then he looked up, eyes open again and watching Yuuri with feeling. Yuuri blushed, thankful for the dark. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘You can ask me anything,’ Yuuri replied, too breathless to worry about how true such a thing was.

Victor said nothing, seeming to think whatever he wanted to ask over in his head a bit more. Yuuri watched, letting his hand fall back down to the very small space between them.

‘Why this? Why escorting?’ Victor finally asked, hand running down Yuuri’s arm. His blue eyes were downcast, metallic in the faint light from the window and fixed on where they were touching. There was no judgement in his voice, accent soft in his whisper and Yuuri let out a long, low breath to the feel of Victor’s fingertips brushing along his skin.

It felt like he was being mapped out. Like he was the ice Victor could skate across so well. Victor’s fingers carving loops and spins in goosebumps. Yuuri wondered if the weightless feeling soaring through him was how Victor felt when he took off for the quadruple flip that had carried Yuuri’s ambitions for so long.

If it was anything like this, Yuuri didn’t blame Victor one bit for wanting to achieve it as often as possible.

‘Why skating?’ Yuuri countered breathlessly as Victor’s hand made it’s way back up, fingers skimming and then drawing circles on Yuuri’s shoulder. Spread eagle, between the pointer and the middle, down Yuuri’s neck. Victor still didn’t look up from where he was watching his own hand, but Yuuri saw his eyebrows come together.

‘I’m good at it,’ Victor replied quietly, tossing his head a little to throw some stray hair from his face. Yuuri’s heart fluttered as he watched, emotion flipping like pages. Too fast to read, but written somewhere deep inside. Yuuri laughed quietly, finally getting Victor to look up at him.

‘Is that all?’

Victor hummed, frowning a little. He rolled onto his back, pillows scraping. Yuuri looked at his profile. Skin white, chalk-outline in the moondark. Yuuri wanted to touch it and have traces of Victor left all over him, leave fingerprints on Victor’s life the way Victor had in his.

‘What else is there?’

‘Don't you like it?’ Yuuri asked, trying to keep the note of disappointment out of his voice. Some small, old part of him felt it though. Did Victor really consider skating so lowly? Yuuri really hoped not. It would break a part of him he didn’t even know was still there.  
  
Yuuri frowned to himself as he realised just how worried he was, Plisetsky’s words of Victor’s apparent retirement coming to mind. He reached out, tracing a hand across Victor’s shoulder. Splayed his fingers out as he moved down along Victor’s skin, over his heart.

‘I used to,’ Victor said at length, staring up at the ceiling again. ‘Lately, I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it.’

‘But you're Victor Nikiforov,’ Yuuri said because it was all he could think of to say. Victor laughed, looking over at Yuuri. Yuuri bit his bottom lip. Victor was just _so_ beautiful.  
  
‘I’m very aware,’ Victor said. He reached out, taking the hand Yuuri had on his chest. He held it, skin warm against Yuuri’s. He ran his fingers down between Yuuri’s knuckles, then up again. Up and down, in a slow, sweep. Yuuri closed his eyes, sighing with the touch. ‘And you didn’t answer my question.’  
  
‘Which one?’  
  
‘About you. This job,’ Victor said and Yuuri opened his eyes, looking at him.  
  
Victor watched him right back, eyes winking streetlight and skin blurred at the white edges. Victor moved his hand, the back of it coming to Yuuri’s cheek. The touch felt like something soft, something fragile. Yuuri leaned into it, like he did with everything Victor gave him. Turn of the earth, pulling Yuuri like it was gravity. Yuuri had always wanted to be Victor’s orbit.  
  
‘You…’ Victor paused, licking his lips. ‘I’m sure you could’ve done anything. So why this?’  
  
Yuuri didn’t say anything at first.  
  
He looked past Victor, just over his other shoulder towards the wall. Strangely enough, he thought of Ice Palace, his old rink in Hasetsu. He remembered the metallic smell of the ice first thing in the morning, the way he could watch the sakura shed their blossoms in the early summer like snow through it’s large, boxed windows. He thought of Yuuko-chan’s face, pink with cold. The gloves she bought him for his thirteenth birthday.  
  
It didn’t even feel like a different life. It felt like the life of someone else entirely. Yuuri wondered when exactly he’d left that Katsuki Yuuri behind. He didn’t remember doing so on purpose.  
  
‘Well, like you, I guess,’ Yuuri said at last, voice quiet. He looked at Victor again, smiled. ‘I’m good at it.’  
  
Victor made a small huff, not quite a laugh. ‘Is that all?’ he repeated back, raising an eyebrow.  
  
‘Why? Am I not good at it?’ Yuuri teased, laughing to himself. But Victor didn’t laugh. Instead, Victor sat up, leaning down onto his arm so he hovered over Yuuri. Yuuri rolled onto his back, looking up at Victor. Victor was all lines, chest smooth and white over his pectorals. Yuuri reached up, touching the bare skin. Wondered idly how Victor groomed, to be so bare.  
  
‘You’re beautiful, Yuuri,’ Victor said sincerely, his voice a little louder than before. Yuuri felt his traitorous blush creep up his neck. He turned his face away, pulling his hands back to himself.  
  
‘You don’t have to keep saying that, you know. It’s my job to look attractive,’ he said quietly, throat feeling thick with something. He swallowed awkwardly, too loud in the quiet of their hotel room. He looked back up at Victor, suddenly self-conscious that he may have come across as rude. ‘Not that it isn’t nice of you! I just mean-’  
  
‘No, Yuuri. You misunderstand,’ Victor said, leaning his body down so he was almost on top of Yuuri. Their bodies were naked and warm from the bed, Victor’s legs slipping effortlessly along Yuuri’s. Each point they touched like a line draw between two stars. Only Victor was the sun and Yuuri was something infinitely smaller and much further away. Threatening to get swallowed up in Victor’s wake.  
  
Victor brushed the hair from Yuuri’s face, his eyes searching across Yuuri’s temple, his nose, his cheeks.  
  
‘You’re very attractive. And of course, you’re good at what you do,’ Victor said, hand now stroking through Yuuri’s hair. His blue eyes were focused on the top of Yuuri’s head, voice distant. Like he was talking to himself more than Yuuri. Yuuri found the thought oddly comforting, feeling less self-conscious as he closed his eyes to Victor’s ministrations. He let Victor’s words wash over him, foreign and yet familiar. ‘You have a sensuality to you, a soul of _Eros,_ you could say. And as you know, we both know quite a bit about _Eros.’_ _  
_ _  
_ Yuuri laughed, unable to stop himself at Victor’s teasing. Victor laughed, too. A deep rumble in his chest that Yuuri could feel shake through him like wind through chimes.  
  
‘But that isn’t why I kept wanting to see you,’ Victor continued, his hand in Yuuri’s hair slipping down along Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, didn’t think he could bear whatever look Victor must be giving him. ‘When we danced together, that first night, do you remember?’  
  
Yuuri nodded blindly, Victor’s fingers blazing fire across his skin.  
  
‘I was drawn to you then because of the way you moved to the music. Like the song was waiting inside of you and you lost you body to it, releasing it with every bend and move you did. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before,’ Victor said, lowering his voice so it sounded deep and rough, accent curving the the words together like he were writing them on Yuuri’s very soul. ‘When I got you on the ice, you showed that same beauty. Maybe no one’s seen it before, but I know it’s there.’  
  
Yuuri held his breath, memories of their dance at the rink swirling around him in imagined spins and loops that never happened. He remembered Victor skating _On Love: Eros,_ just for him in the silence. Like all Victor had needed to tell his story was Yuuri’s breathing and the noise of his skates.  
  
‘You’re at your most beautiful when you’re _you,’_ Victor whispered, fingers trailing down to Yuuri’s lips. He ran a fingertip along Yuuri’s bottom lip, tugging ever so slightly. Yuuri leaned up, eyes still closed so there was nothing Victor’s voice, his touch. ‘It’s not Eros, or the performance you give. Your dance is captivating, but it’s the music inside you that stole my heart.’  
  
Yuuri gasped, opening his eyes to meet Victor’s gaze. Victor’s face was like it had been split open. Marble cracked. He looked vulnerable, cheeks soft in a way they never had before and his mouth open with words half-spoken. His eyebrows were tilted down, almost sad and Yuuri watched as Victor blinked at him, pale lashes fluttering.  
  
_Stole his heart?_  
  
Victor Nikiforov, thinking _Yuuri_ was the one worth giving such a beautiful thing to? Yuuri flushed, mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find something to say. ‘Stolen’ was the right word, as Yuuri felt like a thief. Victor’s heart was something Yuuri could never deserve, in any capacity. Especially this one.

Victor didn’t even know Yuuri. He had no idea just how much of a failure Yuuri was. If Victor remembered, even the simplest thing from the last time they were in Russia together, he'd see just how much of his time he had been wasting. But Yuuri leant into Victor’s touch regardless, desperate for the closeness. For what Victor was offering to be real.

Yuuri had never wanted anything so much. But he couldn’t manage to say a word.  
  
Then, Victor laughed, hollow and nervous. The face Yuuri was more familiar with slipped back across Victor’s striking features, smile trained and eyes guarded. He withdrew his hand, leaning back slightly towards his side of the bed. It was as though a shutter had come down. Yuuri felt his heart pull together in his chest at the sight, constricted with an intense emotion that rippled down through him.  
  
‘I’m-’ Victor shook his head, fringe swaying in silver shimmers. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said so much. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-’  
  
‘No, no!’ Yuuri interrupted, hands coming up to hold Victor’s face, to keep his gaze fixed on Yuuri. Yuuri needed Victor to look at him, needed to see the expression on his face. Needed to look for any hint of a lie. Because Yuuri wanted this so much. Too much. But Victor? He didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. ‘What you said was… perfect.’  
  
‘You must hear it all the time,’ Victor said with a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Yuuri started to rub his thumb across Victor’s cheek, wishing Victor would let him in again. Wanting so desperately what Victor may be offering. ‘Or something like it.’  
  
‘No,’ Yuuri said earnestly, giving his head a quick shake. ‘Other cli- people, I’ve been with. They never showed much of an interest in me. Not the way you have, anyway.’  
  
Yuuri echoed Victor’s motion from behind, slipping a hand down to run his thumb along Victor’s lips. Yuuri thought of how it felt to kiss Victor. To be kissed _by_ Victor. To have his body open and pulling at Victor inside of him, like Victor was a force that could change the very shape of who Yuuri was. Yuuri knew it wasn’t real. Not truly, not with all that Victor still didn’t know about him. But right now, he was just Yuuri, lying in bed with Victor Nikiforov and there wasn’t a single dime between them.  
  
Not yet.  
  
‘You’re special,’ Yuuri said, watching the tip of his thumb ghost the seam of Victor’s lips. ‘More than that. For you to say any of that, to me of all people, is just… I mean-’ Yuuri paused, looking up at Victor. Seeing the colour change in his eyes like seasons. ‘Thank you, Victor.’  
  
Yuuri moved, hands slipping around to cup Victor by the nape of his neck and pull him down. Yuuri couldn’t bear to hear anything else, couldn’t allow Victor to make any more promises Yuuri knew he couldn’t keep. He kissed Victor, lips soft and pliant beneath him as Victor made a small noise of assent. He pushed back, kissing Yuuri with a tenderness that broke Yuuri’s heart. It hurt, but it was a good hurt. Familiar like the way he’d bruise when he stepped out of a Salchow.  
  
As Yuuri let Victor’s hands wander, a low moan escaping him as Victor slipped his tongue so beautifully into his mouth, Yuuri let the ache of everything flood through him. With each touch, each kiss, Yuuri tried to remember that this was only borrowed time. A borrowed heart, too.  
  
Yuuri could never have been trusted with such a thing anyway.

* * *

  
Victor had fetched them both breakfast the next morning, a selection from pastries to fruits. Yuuri tried everything Victor had offered him, politely declining his offer of ordering room service. They had eaten in the bed, Yuuri still undressed after as Victor flittered around the room, getting his gear-bag ready for the short-program. He was dressed in his Russian kit, the red vivid in the morning light and Yuuri drank coffee quietly as Victor rattled his list aloud to himself, some in English, some not.  
  
It was unfairly wonderful, to see Victor like this. Private and slightly bumbling, the frown he got when he realised he’d left his ID card somewhere unknown. (Inside pocket of his good coat, as it turned out). Yuuri thought of what Victor has said the night before. If only Victor knew how much else Yuuri was stealing from their time together.  
  
‘I have to go now, _miliy,’_ Victor said at last, zipping up his kit while reading something on his phone. He glanced over at Yuuri, winking. ‘Don’t want Yakov to come and fetch me like last time.’  
  
Yuuri blushed, taking a sip of the coffee Victor had made him with the ridiculous coffee-machine the hotel room offered.  
  
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be in the kiss-and-cry?’ Victor asked, sitting down on the bed and reaching out to hold Yuuri’s knee through the blanket. Yuuri swallowed his coffee, shaking his head.  
  
‘No. I don’t think it would be a good idea,’ Yuuri said, adjusting his glasses as Victor pouted at him from beneath a perfectly styled fringe.  
  
‘So cruel, Yuuri,’ Victor lamented, shrugging dramatically. ‘I’d like you to have a good view.’  
  
‘The stands will be fine,’ Yuuri said gently, reaching down to take Victor’s hand. ‘Besides, no matter when I am, you’ll have my full attention.’  
  
Victor smiled at that, almost looking smug. Yuuri resisted the urge to roll his eyes, humour and affection lacing together like patchwork inside him.  
  
‘Do I have your word?’  
  
‘Go, you’ll be late,’ Yuuri said, squeaking when Victor suddenly leaned forward to press a hard kiss to Yuuri’s lips. Victor still tasted like mint from his toothpaste and his chin was smooth from his shave, the whole thing sending Yuuri’s thoughts scattering far from anything other than the fact that Victor was _kissing_ him and that was just terrible, the way it ruined Yuuri so completely.  
  
Victor pressed one more quick kiss to Yuuri’s cheek as he stood to depart and then he was gone, vanished in a flurry of red and silver through the white door of the hotel room.  
  
For a long time, Yuuri simply sat in the bed and watched the snow fall from the large window. Yuuri felt simultaneously unreal and yet ached so severely, that he wondered if the very room was denser just because of his presence. The hurt inside him was like a black hole, pulling everything into it and the second Victor had left, it had opened it’s mouth like a wound.  
  
Yuuri had known for some time he was getting too close to Victor. There was blurring lines and then there was what Yuuri had been doing, which was really more into the levels of gluttonous indulgence. But never in his twelve years or so years of following the path Victor Nikiforov had carved out before him, did Yuuri ever imagine himself where he was at this moment. Now that Yuuri had it- had Victor’s attention, his intimacy, the snores he made while he slept- Yuuri found himself extremely unwilling to give it back.  
  
It wasn’t like he had a choice in the manner. Victor was bound to get bored, move onto something, _someone,_ else. The thought was a vice that bent Yuuri’s heart too small, so it strained under the growing weight of his feelings for Victor. Phichit had been right, Yuuri thought miserably. He should never have agreed to this.  
  
But for now, just for now, Yuuri was going to go and watch Victor skate. He had something so precious he felt richer knowing it was within his reach than he ever had at any other time in his life. The memory of Victor from the night before, of his hot body and the drag of his cock inside of Yuuri, carried Yuuri forward to Victor with twitching fingers. It was dangerous. Foolish. To ever want something so much.  
  
Yuuri had only ever wanted one other thing so much and it had broken his heart.  
  
After a shower, Yuuri pulled on a pair of jeans and pale pink sweater he was pretty sure Phichit bought him on a whim, never considering Yuuri would actually wear it. Yuuri tried to put Phichit from his mind as he gave his hair a quick comb, not bothering to style it. Yuuri looked around the bathroom, turned all the soaps so the logo faced outwards as he tried to push thoughts of Phichit and home as deep down as he could. But Phichit was stubborn, even in Yuuri’s memory.  
  
Typical, Yuuri thought, giving himself one more look over after he put his brown jacket on, cat-eared beanie to top the whole thing off. He remembered what Victor had said the day before, about finding the hat sweet.  
  
He looked like… well, himself, really. It was weird. It was nice. Phichit would be happy.  
  
Yuuri thumbed with his phone, surgical mask scratching as he adjusted it around his face as he left the hotel for the rink. No more missed calls. From any numbers, known or otherwise. Yuuri felt relief, breathing out into the cold Moscow air. Looked like Robert had taken the hint. Maybe he wouldn’t need to get Sophia involved after all.  
  
The Megasports Centre was full of bustling people, the flashes of cameras and the booming voice of an announcer filled any of the space left between with tinny, echoing Russian. Yuuri felt strangely disconnected, flitting through the wide halls and up the cement steps towards his seat in the stands.  
  
He was rather close, all things considered. Even level enough to have to peer a little over people’s heads to see the rink properly, but Yuuri would stand on his seat if he had to. Nothing meant more to him right now than seeing Victor perform. Victor would be first, which Yuuri was grateful for because the anticipation that bubbled threatened to overwhelm him.  
  
It wasn’t long before the arena was filled, Yuuri spending the time waiting checking random news articles on his phone. It wasn’t like there was anyone who wanted to text him anyway. He and Phichit still weren’t right. Yuuri wasn’t even sure he’d want to talk to Phichit even if he did get a text.  
  
The lights dimmed and a voice filled the arena, female and Russian. The crowd cheered along to whatever she was saying and Yuuri suddenly felt self-conscious again, hyper aware of himself. He replaced the surgical mask he had across his face again, wishing he’d left his jacket on to hide more of himself. This was _Russia._ Victor’s home country. They had more of an entitlement than Yuuri had.  
  
But Yuuri suddenly forgot all of that when he saw Victor step out onto the ice.  
  
Yuuri loved Victor’s costume for _On Love: Eros._ It was all sensual ripples and winking sparkle, almost subdued for Victor, really. Which really is what made it all the more powerful, if anyone were to ask Yuuri. Which Phichit had stopped doing once he realised that Yuuri would never, _ever_ get bored of explaining all the reasons Victor’s costume choices were so inspiring. The bell sleeves flared as Victor skated to the centre of the rink with easy grace, sly smile beamed out across the panels above the stadium in beautiful HD.  
  
Yuuri’s hands tightened into fists, pressing down onto his lap as he sat up straighter, his eyes fixed on Victor the entire time.  
  
_‘Victor Nikiforov, skating here for the first time this season in his home country of Russia, will be skating to On Love: Eros. There have been rumours of Nikiforov’s consideration of retirement given his performance so far this season, but according to Nikiforov’s interview this morning, he’s been recently inspired._ _  
__  
__He’s changed the technical difficulty of the skate for this competition, switching one of the jump combinations to a new step sequence. An interesting choice, as it actually reduces his base score. But as always, we have high hopes for Nikiforov!’_ _  
__  
_ Yuuri only half-listened to the English announcer, but he smiled when he heard of Victor changing his jump composition. That was so Victor. To do something like that, catch everyone by surprise.  
  
The lights dimmed to a single spotlight, casting Victor is almost monochrome relief at the centre of the ice. Yuuri felt his heart pick up, catching up to a beat that hadn’t even started yet. Then, the music started. Spanish guitar and Victor was moving, arms curving up and around in a circle of seduction. And Yuuri was very much seduced.  
  
Victor pushed off into his first step sequence. Yuuri watched, entranced by every turn and bracket, gasping every time Victor managed to flip on his skate so effortlessly. Like he was weightless, more than gliding. Almost flying. Yuuri’s heart ached, adoration flooding through him and drowning out anything but his sole attention on Victor as he moved across the ice in a striking black silhouette.  
  
The skate was perfect, audience almost silent in their appreciation and any applause delayed by how enraptured everyone was. But it was obvious to Yuuri that Victor was barely registering the audience around him. His face was serene, eyes closed for most of it in a boldness that only Victor could achieve. Yuuri had never been that brave. He’d always watched his feet.  
  
Victor pushed off the ice in one fluid movement, spinning like a top through his quad flip at the half-way point of the program. That was usually as late as Victor put it, usually saving a jump or spin combination for the second half. But this time as Victor landed and swept out into a graceful counter, he flipped on his skates again and turned into the new step sequence.  
  
At first, Yuuri wasn’t sure what was wrong. But something triggered in the back of his mind as Victor’s knees bent with a Choctaw turn, closed and one leg extending out like a ballet barre. As Victor continued, body shifting side to side in serpentine as he spiralled backwards, Yuuri gasped, recognition hitting him so hard it winded him.  
  
That wasn’t just a step sequence. That was _Yuuri’s_ step sequence.  
  
Grand Prix, four years ago. The sequence Yuuri had spent months creating and perfecting, inspiration from Victor’s very own senior debut. The first competition Yuuri had ever stayed up late to watch in realtime. Yuuri had spent hours meticulously studying it, changing it from diagonal to serpentine, pushing the twizzle back to divide the sequence- and here it was, exactly as Yuuri had designed it, being skated only the way Yuuri could ever have dreamed it would.  
  
Victor was skating Yuuri’s routine. Yuuri would never forget it, couldn’t forget. Caught himself going through it himself when his mind drifted back at his rink in Detroit. And there Victor, stepping through it like he was stepping into Yuuri’s own skates.  
  
_How did he-?_  
  
As the music shifted into it’s final arrangement, Victor cast off his imaginary lover, legs spread in open invitation before he halted into his final pose, the rink echoing out with the last few notes of _On Love: Eros._  
  
The audience erupted and it felt like the whole stadium was shaking as people stood up around Yuuri. Yuuri sat back in his chair, hands shaking and breath heavy. The noise was dull around him, feeling physical like it was smothering him as the reality of what had just happened sunk it. It burrowed deep, sticking teeth into old wounds and pulling up blood.  
  
There was no denying it. Yuuri couldn’t, not after that. Not anymore.  
  
Yuuri dropped his head into his hands, throat closing up and panic bursting to life inside of him. Fire hot and thundering like a storm.  
  
Victor knew.

* * *

  
  
Victor had only just left the kiss-and-cry before he demanded his phone from Yakov. He needed to speak to Yuuri, now. Immediately. He needed to know what Yuuri thought, if Yuuri saw and understood what Victor was asking of him.  
  
Victor felt like he was floating. Body thrumming with adrenaline, heart still pounding after the exertion and all Victor could think was _Yuuri Yuuri Yuuri._ Did Yuuri like it? Did he understand? Victor had to know. Needed to have Yuuri close to him, to touch him and remind himself that Yuuri was here. Yuuri was here and so close, almost within reaching distance of Victor. Nothing had ever felt more fragile and Victor wanted Yuuri in his arms, safe and sheltered as soon as possible.  
  
Yakov made a disapproving noise, muttering something about how Victor should address the press before he catered to any _personal business._ Victor did what he had been doing best the last few weeks and ignored Yakov entirely. Victor made his way to where he’d thrown his gear-bag haphazardly just behind the kiss-and-cry, quickly unlacing his skates and replacing them with trainers.  
  
As Victor made his way down the hall towards the assigned cool-down room, he anxiously thumbed open his phone. No new messages. Dread settled in Victor’s stomach. Insane thoughts started to run through his head. Like maybe Yuuri was running off to book a flight back to Detroit, probably panicked by Victor’s invasion. Or maybe Yuuri hadn’t even noticed at all, his past routines likely forgotten after the years. Or maybe-  
  
Victor didn’t get a chance to think beyond that, as when he looked up from his phone, he saw Yuuri.  
  
Yuuri was standing just down the hall, behind one of the press barriers. He looked adorable, smaller almost in an oversized pink jumper and dark skinny jeans, bulky jacket thrown over an arm. Feminine, like he had when Victor had first met him. Eros’ clothes. Victor could tell the difference now. Yuuri had a black surgical mask pulled over his chin, covering up to his nose and eyes searching until he met Victor’s gaze. Victor tried to read his expression as he approached, tried to see if he could guess what Yuuri was going to say. But there was still so much he couldn’t see.  
  
The hall was mostly empty, all press hounding at the kiss-and-cry for post-skate interviews. But Yuuri didn’t seem to notice, only giving the place a quick glance around before he was pushing past the barrier and striding towards Victor with purpose.  
  
‘Yuuri, I-’  
  
Yuuri pulled his mask down, interrupting Victor with a firm kiss that knocked Victor back. Yuuri threw his arms up and around Victor’s neck, tugging Victor down with force as Yuuri pressed his tongue against Victor’s lips. His coat fell to the floor, forgotten. Victor groaned, arousal sparking alight with his already tipping adrenaline. Yuuri took advantage, pushing his tongue into Victor’s mouth and opening his mouth wider. Victor grabbed Yuuri by the waist, spinning him and pushing him backwards until Yuuri met wall.  
  
Yuuri made a small whimper as his back made contact, hands scrambling against Victor’s neck like he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with them. Victor knew _exactly_ what he wanted to do with his hands though, running them down Yuuri’s waist and slipping them under the hem of his jumper.  
  
‘Victor,’ Yuuri sighed, pulling back just to lean forward and kiss Victor again. He tilted his head back, breaking the kiss and staring up at Victor from behind his glasses. His brown eyes were cavernous, deep like a well Victor could drown in. ‘You were- what you did…’  
  
Victor waited, heart holding it’s breath. He needed to know. Needed to hear Yuuri _say it._  
  
_Please, Yuuri. Just tell me. Let me in._ _  
_ _  
_ But Yuuri said nothing. Instead, Yuuri fisted his hands in Victor’s costume, tugging Victor forward and kissing him again. There was a passion to Yuuri’s kiss, a whimpering desperation that tasted so beautiful Victor felt drunk with it. He swayed on his feet, hands making contact with Yuuri’s bare skin and adoring Yuuri’s hitched breath as they did. Victor fell forward, pressing Yuuri firmly up against the wall and Yuuri slipped a leg forward, thigh hugging around Victor’s hip.  
  
They were going to get caught. Any second, a reporter or just some camera-happy arena crew could walk around the corner and take a photo that would so easily ruin both of them. Victor knew this, could hear some distant part of his brain remind him of it. But it was so hard to care when Yuuri arched his back like that, tongue so wet and insistent against Victor’s.  
  
Victor moved his hands down, grabbing Yuuri at the curve of his waist. He pulled back, peppering one more kiss to Yuuri’s lips.  
  
‘We shouldn’t do this here,’ Victor said, wishing his voice sounding more steady. Yuuri made a noise not unlike a whine and it went straight down to Victor’s cock. Yuuri tugged at Victor’s costume shirt, fabric pulling taut.  
  
‘Victor, please. I need- I can’t,’ Yuuri stuttered, breathless and eyes fluttering. Victor leant forward, resting his forehead against Yuuri’s. Sharing each other’s air. ‘I need to have you. Right now.’  
  
God, how could Victor say no to Yuuri asking him that?  
  
Victor released Yuuri, taking a hand instead and he bolted down the hall, further away from the cool-down and around the opposite corner. Yuuri followed silently, hand tight around Victor’s. Almost painful.  
  
Something was going on in Yuuri’s head. Something vivid, possibly dangerous and definitely something Victor was looking forward to exploring. Whatever Yuuri was thinking, Victor wanted to hear it. He wanted to feel what Yuuri felt, pass it back to him and show Yuuri that Victor was someone worth trusting to do so.  
  
Spotting what he was looking for, Victor walked up to the door, fumbling to get it open before he slipped in, tugging Yuuri in after him.  
  
It was a custodial closet. Small, cramped space and nearly entirely dark but for the light that came through the thick, frosted window on the door. Victor turned the lock, wasting no time in grabbing at Yuuri again, stepping forward into Yuuri’s limited space until Yuuri hit the shelves. There was a small clatter as the odd spray bottle fell, but Victor just couldn’t bring himself to care as Yuuri was kissing him again, mouth falling open in a lewd moan as Victor slipped his tongue past Yuuri’s lips.  
  
Yuuri had his hands on Victor’s neck, fingers hard against the soft skin there and Victor canted his hips forward. He could feel the stiff resistance of Yuuri’s jeans, felt the hard outline of Yuuri’s cock against his thigh. Victor moaned, unable to stop himself and he fucked his tongue into Yuuri’s mouth with more insistence, swiping it widely along Yuuri’s and pushing his lips forward in an undulating motion.  
  
The noise that crawled out of Yuuri’s throat was deep, guttural and Victor was getting hard, too. His cock swelled, pressing up against the firm fabric of his dancers belt and Victor tilted his head, trying to get even more access to Yuuri’s mouth.  
  
Everywhere Yuuri was touching him felt like Yuuri was setting his skin on fire. Like Yuuri was some great, terrible reckoning and he’d come to burn Victor’s kingdom down. Victor would let him. Ask him, even. Anything to just _glimpse_ at what Yuuri was thinking. How he truly felt.  
  
Yuuri swung a leg up and around Victor, surprising Victor once again with his flexibility. He looped it tight, heel digging into the small of Victor’s back. His short boots were hard against Victor there, but it felt like an anchor. Weighing Victor forward. Their hips met, Yuuri’s now straining erection pressed earnestly up against Victor’s choked one. They both sighed, the heat between them igniting as Yuuri started to buck his hips slightly.  
  
‘Christ, Yuuri. Here?’ Victor asked, already knowing he was going to say yes. Yuuri’s eyes were closed, head tilted back. His neck was on display, skin milky in the strange, filtered light. Victor licked his lips at the sight of it. He leaned forward, running his nose along the exposed skin and breathing in. Yuuri smelt like snow and Victor’s own body lotion.  
  
Victor whined, so aroused to have Yuuri smelling of him.  
  
Yuuri reacted with desperation, hands fumbling against Victor’s neck to try and guide his jaw back up towards his own mouth to kiss him again. Victor relented, but only for a moment, before he pulled away, trailing kisses down Yuuri’s neck.  
  
Victor wanted Yuuri so badly. Wanted Yuuri to offer himself, just like this. Anything Yuuri was willing to share with Victor, anything at all, would be enough. Victor ran his hands down Yuuri’s waist, around his back and down onto his ass. He grabbed a handful each, squeezing the plump cheeks through the denim. Yuuri’s bucking froze, instead shifting to a more impatient grind right against Victor. Victor could feel the curve of his cock, the strain on the jeans. Victor pinched Yuuri’s ass, half-hoping he could leave fingerprints there.  
  
Yuuri managed to get a hand between them as Victor kissed him deeply again, hand scrambling against the soft fabric of Victor’s costume before Yuuri groaned in frustration. He pressed his palm up flat against Victor’s cock, applying pressure that was just the littlest bit too much. Victor loved it, hips canting into the touch unbidden.  
  
‘Off. Now,’ Yuuri panted, kissing down from the edges of Victor’s lips, along his jaw. The hollow junction where the edge of his jaw met his neck. Yuuri grazed his teeth there and Victor moaned, biting his lip as he caught how loud he was being. Yuuri tugged on the fabric again, causing Victor to laugh breathlessly.  
  
‘They don’t come off like that.’  
  
‘Then whatever way they do come off, _do it,’_ Yuuri said impatiently against Victor’s skin, sinking his teeth into Victor’s neck. Victor bit his lip again to stifle the noise he would’ve made.  
  
Victor reluctantly pulled away to unhook the trousers from the shirt-belt combination, giving him the chance to shove his dancer’s belt a little ways down. Just enough to get his cock free, though it awkwardly kept his legs pretty close together as he’d only pushed his clothing aside. He took himself in hand, breathing hitching with relief at the touch. He didn’t even realise how much he’d been craving it.  
  
When Victor looked at Yuuri again, Yuuri’s eyes were focused entirely on Victor’s cock. His mouth was parted, eyes so dark with lust. He looked hungry. Victor felt heat shoot through him, straight down from his cheeks to the tight, narrow point of his gut. He bucked into his hand, loving the way Yuuri’s mouth opened slightly wider at the motion.  
  
Then it was all movement as Yuuri surged forward, taking Victor’s lips again in a wet kiss, tongue missing at first and streaking saliva slick across the edge of Victor’s mouth. It was messy and the most erotic thing Victor ever felt, all of it coming together in one perfect moment as Yuuri reached down, replacing Victor’s hand with his own.  
  
He gripped Victor’s cock in a small fist, pumping it up and down so the foreskin dragged in a way that was just delicious. Victor moaned into his kiss with Yuuri, sucking Yuuri’s tongue with a fervour that could likely hurt him. But Victor could only barely register that. He wanted more. It needed to be more, _right now._ _  
_ _  
_ Growling, Victor used both hands to pull Yuuri’s jumper up and over his head, tossing it somewhere behind them. He reached out, dislodging Yuuri’s grip on him as he took Yuuri by the hips and turned him around. He shoved Yuuri forward, watched as Yuuri grabbed onto the edges of the shelves before him. He knocked more to the floor, the clatter momentarily startling both of them with its volume. But then Victor was up against Yuuri, the only skin between them now the flared _v_ of Victor’s shirt, chest to Yuuri’s back. Victor’s cock rubbed up against the rough of Yuuri’s denim and oh no, that definitely wouldn’t do.  
  
‘Victor, _please.’_  
  
‘Anything, Yuuri,’ Victor said and he meant it. He kissed Yuuri’s back as he ran his hands up and down the exposed skin, tracing Yuuri’s prominent rib bones and his swollen hips. He dipped down, one hand getting under the waistband of Yuuri’s jeans the other fidgeting with the button and fly. Finally, Victor got Yuuri’s jeans open and he pushed them, along with Yuuri’s boxers, down just enough to get Yuuri’s beautiful cock into his hand.  
  
For a moment, there was nothing but Yuuri’s heavy breathing. He arched his back, an ignition to Victor’s deep engine as Victor slowly grinded his cock against Yuuri’s ass, head just teasing between the cheeks. Victor could feel the spread of his precome, the slick turning sticky on the cool skin of Yuuri’s ass. It tugged at Victor’s skin, memories of _exactly_ what it felt like to fuck into Yuuri so strong it made Victor moan.  
  
Victor tightened his grip on Yuuri’s cock, slowly beginning to move up and down. His other hand guided his cock down, lower and past Yuuri’s ass, so it sat almost between Yuuri’s thighs. Victor bent his knees, leaning forward so bend Yuuri even more in half. Yuuri braced himself against the shelves, head tilted up in a sinful curve. The view, even from the back, was perfect.  
  
They didn’t have anything. No lube, no condoms. Victor knew he should probably stop this, pull Yuuri back up and ask him if he was sure. But Victor just couldn’t bring himself to do that. Not with Yuuri bending over like that, not with Yuuri hissing impatiently for Victor to _move, touch me, please._ _  
_ _  
_ Victor could deny Yuuri nothing.  
  
Pumping Yuuri’s cock, Victor reached another hand up and over Yuuri’s shoulder. He moved until he could feel Yuuri’s lips, which fell open to accommodate him. Instantly, two of Victor’s fingers were enveloped in the velvet heat of Yuuri’s mouth. Yuuri pushed his tongue between them, mouth unbelievably slick as Victor started to move his fingers in and out of Yuuri’s mouth. Victor just contained his whimper as Yuuri made a small moan around his fingers. Like nothing could possibly give Yuuri more pleasure than having Victor inside of him. Any part of him.  
  
Victor wished, perhaps stupidly, that such a want extended to having Victor in his life, too. The hope of it spread like tendrils, wrapping around Victor’s arousal and pulling it tight. He gripped Yuuri better, rolling the foreskin over the head of his cock and Victor fell in love with the noise Yuuri made. It was soft and desperate, and Victor wondered if he’d ever be able to touch himself again without hearing Yuuri make that exact noise in his head forever.  
  
Suddenly, there was a different noise. One that didn’t come from either of them.  
  
Victor pressed his chest flat against Yuuri’s back, his costume bunching between them in a pool of nylon heat. There were people outside, speaking in Russian about the competition. Victor caught snippets, realising they must be journalists of some kind. They were discussing possible results, even Victor himself. But none of that mattered, because as they approached, Yuuri’s cock twitched in Victor’s hand and Yuuri’s mouth sucked _hard_ on Victor’s fingers.  
  
Oh. _Oh._ _  
_ _  
_ ‘Shh,’ Victor whispered, though Yuuri had been blissfully silent. It got the right reaction though, as Yuuri pushed his ass back against Victor’s cock. It slipped up again, between the cheeks and head pressing up against Yuuri’s perineum. Victor experimented, giving short, piston bucks forward. A small, but high, whine escaped Yuuri’s mouth.  
  
Victor grinned against the back of Yuuri’s neck, arousal thick and pooling low inside of him. The journalists walked past their hideaway, shadows crossing the window. Yuuri pushed back into Victor’s movement, the two of them rocking against each other in a dirty grind, precome slick and beading down Yuuri’s cock, giving Victor’s fingers easy pull.  
  
Victor took his fingers from Yuuri’s mouth, saliva trailing. He pulled away slightly to reach down between them, slicking his cock up with the wet from Yuuri’s mouth. He swallowed the groan that rose up inside of him. Who knew how close those journalists were? If they _knew,_ if he and Yuuri were _caught-_ _  
_ _  
_ _‘Victor~’_ _  
_ _  
_ God, the way Yuuri said his name. It was barely more than a whisper, but it was enough.  
  
Victor released Yuuri’s cock, enjoying Yuuri’s soft gasp of disappointment. Victor pushed Yuuri’s legs together, thighs closely pressed. Then he pushed forward, bending slightly to get the right angle. His cock slipped into the tight space between Yuuri’s thighs, eased by the slick of Yuuri’s salvia and Victor’s own precome. Victor took a moment to enjoy the feeling, closed his eyes and just listened to the short, panting breath of the man beneath him.  
  
Then, Victor started to move.  
  
Precome pooled and dragged around him, coating Yuuri’s inner thighs with a slick that tugged on Victor’s cock in a way lube didn’t. Lube didn’t dry, or at least, it didn’t like this. Victor held Yuuri by the hips, holding him steady as he fucked between his legs. Yuuri was almost silent, small breaths and tiny _ah’s_ slipping out. But as Victor found a rhythm, as he began to push more forward, head of his cock brushing on the underside of Yuuri’s balls, Yuuri’s composure withered.  
  
‘Uh, Vic-ah, Victor,’ Yuuri moaned, too loud and Victor pressed right up against Yuuri’s back again, reaching a hand up to cover Yuuri’s mouth. Yuuri only seemed to take that as an invitation to be louder, given how he made a choked sob against Victor’s palm.  
  
Victor slipped his other hand down, fisting Yuuri’s cock again. Yuuri was so slick, leaking down himself in thick drops. It pooled between Victor’s fingers, spreading thickly as Victor moved his hand up and down. Yuuri panted wetly into Victor’s other hand, knuckles turning white from where they gripped the edge of the shelves in front of them. Victor rocked into him, cock so wet now from precome and slick sweat between Yuuri’s thighs that it had him fucking faster. Yuuri grunted, grinding back against Victor.  
  
Sweat was beginning to gather on Victor’s back. He was overheating from his costume, from the adrenaline. From Yuuri squirming beneath him, apparently torn between fucking into Victor’s hand or rocking back against Victor’s cock.  
  
It was all going to be over much too soon. Victor knew that. He had to let Yuuri’s mouth go, instead gripping Yuuri’s bare shoulder to keep Yuuri steady as his hips turned erratic in their pistoning forward. Once free, Yuuri started to speak. Garbled, half-moaned babbling but what he said had Victor stuttering.  
  
‘You were amazing,’ Yuuri panted, voice just above a strained whisper. ‘Absolutely ah-amazing. _Don’t stop, I’m so close!’_ _  
_ _  
_ Victor kept stroking Yuuri’s cock, feeling the blurred, hot edges of his own orgasm beginning to mount. Yuuri suddenly leaned more forward, giving Victor a better angle but also throwing a hand out madly. He knocked something else, sending the bottle or spray or _whatever_ to the ground with a clatter. Yuuri threw his head back, glasses looking like they were too close to falling off.  
  
‘It was for you,’ Victor said, purring the words into the back of Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri keened softly, cock pulsing in Victor’s hands suddenly as he came, his entire body going still with it. Victor felt Yuuri’s release erupt all over his hand, dripping down between his fingers. That was about all it took.  
  
Victor came, turning to sink his teeth into Yuuri’s skin. Not enough to mark, but enough to stop the groan that threatened to escape him. He felt himself between Yuuri’s thighs, hot and wet. It took a moment for Victor to stop pushing into it, body still craving the warmth and tightness Yuuri offered.  
  
They both just breathed, perhaps a little too loudly if Victor thought about it. Reluctantly, Victor pulled himself away from Yuuri’s body. He looked around, spotting a packet of unopened wash-clothes that managed to survive Yuuri’s assault on the shelves. He reached up, hands shaking and took the packet down.  
  
Yuuri stood on his trembling legs, letting Victor take care of himself before he moved to clean Yuuri up as well. After readjusting his dancer belt and trousers, Victor went to look after Yuuri. Yuuri made a soft noise of protest as Victor knelt down, but Victor hushed him gently. He tried to ignore how silent Yuuri was, but it ate at him. The silence was almost a presence in itself. Victor wiped up the mess he made of Yuuri, trying not to be too rough with the coarse cloth. When he was satisfied, Victor threw the cloth into a nearby bucket, picking Yuuri’s jumper up as he got up from the floor. Yuuri replaced his jeans, eyes down.  
  
Victor offered the jumper to Yuuri, who took it silently, hand careful not to brush Victor’s. Victor frowned, dread washing over him. Something wasn’t right.  
  
‘Need help?’ he offered, but Yuuri just shook his head, taking the jumper and slipping it back on over his head. Even in the near-dark, Victor could see Yuuri’s flushed face. His swollen lips. There was no way anyone could look at him and not know. Victor felt bizarrely proud of such, but it was undone by the nervousness he still felt that Yuuri was withdrawing somehow.  
  
‘Thank you,’ Yuuri said once he’d righted himself. He reached out, straightening the collar of Victor’s shirt. The touch was welcome, but Yuuri wasn’t looking at him, instead focusing on his own hands. The lack of eye contact made Victor uneasy.  
  
‘So, my short-program,’ Victor started carefully, noticing how Yuuri stiffened. Victor took Yuuri’s hands in his own, careful not to hold on too tightly. There was something about the way Yuuri held his shoulders, how his arms bent inwards. Like he was trying to make himself smaller. Victor didn’t want Yuuri to be so self-conscious. He tried, cautious; ‘What did you think?’  
  
Yuuri said nothing at first, eyes still downcast. Then, he looked up. His brown eyes were shining in the half-light, watching Victor from behind his glasses. He blinked for a moment before smiling. It was a small smile; tentative, kiss-red and everything Victor could ever ask for.  
  
‘To have you skate like that, for me,’ Yuuri said slowly, raising a hand to touch Victor’s cheek. Victor leaned into the touch, heart on the razor’s edge as he waited for Yuuri to say it. _Please Yuuri, just say it._ Yuuri ran a finger down Victor’s face, under his jaw. ‘No one could ask for anything more.’  
  
Yuuri met his gaze again, colours in stripes like woodgrain.  
  
‘After I saw you I-’ Yuuri paused, slipping his bottom lip under his teeth. Victor watched the movement. He noticed that Yuuri tended to do that when he was uncomfortable, or when he was trying not to say something. Victor tried not to feel disappointed, tried contain the hurt. _Say it!_ Yuuri smiled, soft and small again. ‘I know it was a bit much. But I had to have to you. I just… I needed you.’  
  
Victor waited.  
  
‘I hope that was okay,’ Yuuri said at last and Victor frowned, confused.  
  
‘Wha- Of course it was,’ he replied shakily, trying to catch his breath. Maybe he hadn’t been clear enough. Maybe Yuuri didn’t remember that routine. Victor wasn’t sure. He hated not being sure.  
  
Victor swallowed, fingers tightening around Yuuri’s reflexively. Yuuri held him right back, which did something to soothe the hurt that was beginning to gather inside of Victor. Victor had hoped… Victor shook his head. He had been foolish. Stupid to think Yuuri would offer his honesty just because Victor asked. Yuuri had probably had hundreds of clients who’d tried to know him, tried asking.  
  
But after last night, Victor really thought he was within a chance. Yuuri had sounded so genuine, had felt so real beneath his fingertips. Had done so again, just a few moments ago.  
  
_No,_ Victor thought as Yuuri guided them both out of the closet, head glancing up and down the hall before he stepped out completely, taking Victor after him. _I’m different. I know I’m different._ _  
_ _  
_ If Yuuri wasn’t going to admit the truth now, then Victor would just ask him again. And Victor would ask for everything next time. No more expectations. If Yuuri wanted it, then Victor would give everything in his power to give it. Including the option to not-choose Victor at all, if that was what he wanted. Victor was pretty sure that what he and Yuuri had was something worth choosing, but there was still the possibility Yuuri didn’t think so. The thought made Victor feel heavy.  
  
Victor looked at Yuuri. He looked at his messy black hair, his narrow neck. He thought of the noises Yuuri had made, how needy he had been Victor’s touch, his kiss. Victor hoped it was real. Victor wanted it so badly to be real.  
  
_One more time,_ Victor thought as Yuuri caught him looking. Yuuri smiled, eyes bright like the sun. _I’ll ask you one more time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up 3 weeks late with starbucks*
> 
> sup 
> 
> Dedicated to lucycamui, especially, for helping get through this hell-chapter, (as we christened it). I also want to take a moment to thank those of you who reached out to me personally. You know who you are, but I wanted to take this moment to thank you again. The help you've offered, the kindess you gave, it has been so truly appreciated. Thank you x
> 
> A beautiful extra scene from this chapter, written by lucycamui: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10723323
> 
> To all of you guys, my readers and followers, and all of you who reached out to me on tumblr via message/ask/anon- how could I ever repay for the kindness and patience you showed me? I was so upset and down about everything, but you guys just swooped in and carried my mood like it weighed nothing, carrying me forward. I'm so lucky, to ever have been blessed with knowing people like you, having people like you in my life. I can never thank you enough for that. Though I will certainly try.
> 
> I love this story. I really do. But I love you guys more.


	12. Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yuuri finds himself in a new position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *gets a new job/works 45 hour weeks/has to manage 12 new editors/fit in meal plans/relationship/cat* should i cut this chapter into two pieces and update that way, with two averagely sized chapters?
> 
> also me: *quits job* NAAAHHHHH

Yuuri closed the menu. Stared at the faux-leather, the slightly faded gilding on the words, then he opened it again. And like the first four times he had done it, the Cyrillic was just as incomprehensible so Yuuri snapped the menu closed again. He could feel Victor watching him, the space of the table between them feeling like miles in the small booth of the lofted restaurant Victor had brought them to. Moscow swirled in snow and streetlight outside, the air of the restaurant filled with laughter and glass.

Yuuri was hyper aware of Victor sticking to his side, even stretching out his own legs a bit to see if he could find Victor’s. No such luck. Without the ability to reach out and touch, Yuuri was finding it very hard to ground himself in the wake of everything. Instead, Yuuri just rolled his shoulders, wondering if it were possible for him to become smaller. Preferably so small that Victor couldn't glare at him from across the table like that. 

Yuuri flicked his eyes up, meeting Victor’s gaze. Okay, maybe he wasn't being fair. _Glaring_ wasn't the right word. But there was definitely something targeted in Victor’s eyes as they looked at Yuuri, hooded dark in the low lighting of the restaurant.  
  
Throat thick, Yuuri fidgeted with the collar of his shirt. (Silk, swoop-necked. Eros’ shirt). Why was Victor doing this? Yuuri knew that Victor knew the truth now. Victor must know it, too. Knew Yuuri had been lying, was still lying. Why hadn't he said anything?  
  
He was probably trying to think of a way to let Yuuri down nicely. _Or maybe,_ a traitorous little voice in Yuuri’s head suggested. _He’s thought of a way to get you back for lying to him._ _  
_  
Victor wouldn’t do that. Yuuri stared down at the closed menu, blood pounding. Would he?

Yuuri reached out and took a long sip of the wine Victor had ordered when they had arrived. Vinegary, cold and it stung the back of his nose as he drank too much. Victor watched, eyes widening as Yuuri put the glass down with shaking fingers. Yuuri looked away sharply, out across at the glamour and foreignness of the other patrons. Their Russian was hard in Yuuri’s ears.

He couldn't believe it. After four years, after _swearing_ to himself never to let it happen, Yuuri once again found himself in Russia with Victor, crushed under the weight of his failures.

‘Are you okay?’ Victor asked, voice quiet. Yuuri bristled, legs snapping together and back straight.  

‘Yes. Perfect,’ he snapped, before flinching at the sound of panic he could hear himself. English squeaking like a tire. Victor frowned, rolling his shoulders beneath his clean, black shirt.

‘You're shaking.’

‘It's cold.’

‘Is it? Would you like a jacket?’

‘No,’ Yuuri replied curtly, tugging in the sleeves of his shirt. Liquid fabric, pooled silk. Drowning him. ‘No. I'm fine, thank you.’

They said nothing for a while after that. Yuuri watched the restaurant around them, watching people walk to and from the bar at the far end. The language was so stifling. Loud, sharp. It rang around Yuuri the way Japanese never had, the way English had long dulled from. If he could just get a moment to think. Just a second. Even earlier, when he'd been alone in their- _Victor’s_ hotel room, getting ready to meet Victor here after the competition, Yuuri had felt cornered in by Victor’s presence.

Victor’s clothes on the floor, his language on the television. His hair on the sheets where they'd made love the night before.  
  
Yuuri had only been left alone for a brief two hours. And in those two hours, he had managed to successfully work himself up into quite the panic. Over and over, Yuuri had went through Victor’s skate. Watched the replay on his phone as he dried off from his shower, had looked up his old rankings while he brushed his teeth. It had to have been on purpose. Victor was telling him something. Wasn’t he? Yuuri ran circles in his head as he had put his contacts in, wiped tears from his face as he had checked his reflection in the mirror before meeting Victor in the lobby.

 _Just one small second._ Yuuri ran his hands across the edge of the table, white tablecloth rough beneath his fingertips. Bathroom? Didn’t know where it was. Couldn’t read the signs. Bar? Maybe, if he could just-  
  
Yuuri jumped as Victor’s hands took his across the table, tugging them away from the edge and resting them at the centre of the table between them. He held on tight, fingers folding over Yuuri’s and shielding his knuckles. Victor’s skin was so white it was almost alien, Yuuri’s fingers dark beneath him. Had he always been that way?

‘Talk to me,’ Victor said quietly, eyes firm on Yuuri’s. Blue question. Yuuri swallowed awkwardly, throat tight.

‘I-’ Yuuri didn't know what to say. Didn't how to start. Scared that if he did dare to, he wouldn’t be able to stop and it would all come flooding out of him. All the secrets he’d buried, all the feelings he wished he could put in the ground, too. All the things he knew Victor didn’t, couldn’t possibly, want to hear. The skate was… _what was it?_  
  
Yuuri wanted to ask, but he was afraid of the answer. What if it had been just coincidence? After all, Yuuri had only designed that sequence from Victor’s own skating in the first place. Maybe it was just chance for Victor to return to it. But the Choctaw, the mid-section twizzle. Those were Yuuri’s edits. He was sure. Was he sure?  
  
Yuuri didn’t realise he had looked away from Victor until a hand came up to his chin, long fingers gently guiding Yuuri back to Victor’s gaze.  
  
‘Do you want to go back to the hotel?’ Victor asked quietly, Yuuri blinking the sting in his eyes away as he forced himself to stare at Victor’s face. Yuuri couldn’t see anything there. No trace of amusement, or arched satisfaction. The only thing Yuuri could see was how confused Victor seemed, the deep line of worry on his brow.  
  
_Say it_ _,_ Yuuri thought to himself. If he could just say it, he would know. Victor would tell him. Yuuri trusted Victor to tell him.  
  
Or maybe not, because Yuuri’s tongue still felt too heavy. Felt like his chest was constricted, ribs pulling together until nothing could make it’s way out but the short, nervous breaths he was taking. Victor ran a soft finger over his bottom lip and Yuuri gasped, flinching back before he could stop himself. Saw the quick flash of hurt in Victor’s face as he did, but still found himself unable to say a thing.

Yuuri flinched to himself as he thought of their quick fuck in the closet. He felt himself blush, shame flooding through him. It had been wrong to do that- Yuuri knew Victor wouldn't stop him, wouldn't ask any further questions if Yuuri kept him just the right kind of distracted. Yuuri knew it had been stupid, selfish, to use Victor like that. Bury the truth of their situation in the familiar touch and bend of sex. Victor had never felt less like a client than he had that afternoon. The guilt of trying to treat him as such hadn't left Yuuri since it happened.  
  
Before either of them could say anything, a crisply dressed waiter came to the table. He spoke in quiet Russian, but with the distraction, Yuuri managed to untangle himself from Victor’s grip. The waiter spoke exclusively to Victor anyway, eyes not even skittering to Yuuri’s direction. Yuuri relaxed a small bit as Victor looked away to address the waiter, sinking back into the plush velour of the booth.  
  
This was easier. More familiar. Yuuri was used to this- being the idle escort, the pretty thing the waiters knew better than to ask for an opinion from. Yuuri wondered how many other people Victor had brought here, as the waiter seemed quite friendly. Wondered, stupidly, if maybe Yuuri was the favourite.  
  
When Victor turned to ask him what he like, Yuuri just muttered _the pasta._ Every restaurant had a pasta. With a curt nod, Victor relayed it to the waiter and dismissed him. Yuuri squirmed uncomfortably as they were left alone again. It was only a matter of time, surely. Victor was bound to bring it up if Yuuri didn’t. But still, Yuuri said nothing. If he could only keep it going a little longer, preserve the fantasy that this dangerous, illicit thing between them was sustainable.  
  
‘Is there something on your mind?’ Victor asked finally, voice very quiet. When Yuuri looked at him from across the table, he wasn’t looking at Yuuri anymore. Instead, his eyes were obscured by his long fringe as he looked down at his own hands, long fingers lacing and unlacing nervously.   
  
‘No,’ Yuuri lied. Victor sighed, head hanging again and Yuuri flushed guiltily. He thought over everything that had happened since he’d arrived. He pinched the tablecloth between his fingers. ‘Okay. Yes.’  
  
Victor’s head snapped up, blue eyes bright and lips parted. Yuuri took a deep breath. Ran a nervous finger around his ear, pushing stray hairs back.

‘Are you quitting?’

‘What?’ Victor replied, obviously confused. But Yuuri sat up straight, looked at Victor resolutely from across the table. He dropped his hands down beneath the table. Across the room, a champagne bottle opened and people cheered, drunken noise. Victor shook his head. ‘Quitting what?’

‘Skating,’ Yuuri said, digging his hands into his thighs. Heart rabbiting in his chest. ‘Is it true you're quitting after this season?’

Victor smacked his lips slowly, the action thinning them into a line. He leaned back in his chair, regarding Yuuri carefully. Yuuri stared back, afraid. Victor looked like he had in the odd poster he had back in his flat. Imposing as the shadows crossed his sharp features, powerful like most men of his class. Though if Yuuri was honest, Victor didn’t really conform to those stuffy standards in a lot of ways. Right now however, in his designer shirt and sitting aloft in the skyline of Moscow, Victor looked every inch of the _Victor Nikiforov_ Yuuri had imagined before meeting him.  
  
‘Who told you that?’ Victor asked, voice low.  
  
‘Plisetsky,’ Yuuri replied, knowing now there was no point in pretending to mispronounce the teenager’s name. Like Yuuri hadn’t learned it from the moment it became attached to Victor’s.  
  
‘I see,’ Victor said slowly, putting a finger to his chin. He closed his eyes briefly, before looking at Yuuri again. All blue, laser focus. ‘Anything else?’  
  
‘What else is there?’ Yuuri asked, genuinely. Victor said nothing and it felt like Yuuri was fissuring. His surface splintering, like the quakes that had trembled his bedroom back in Japan. Yuuri had thought himself daring there, brave almost. To challenge Victor like that. But now Yuuri just felt foolish. ‘Why do you want to retire?’  
  
Victor shook his head. Yuuri looked at Victor’s wine, still untouched since he’d ordered it. The condensation slipped down it’s surface in glittering beads. ‘Why do you care if I retire?’  
  
‘You must know,’ Yuuri said softly, closing his eyes as the tears threatened to come again. His eyes were burning, his cheeks were burning. Everything Yuuri was, burning up and out of him like ash. He felt so stupid.  
  
The waiter swung by again, this time with a small bread basket and to top up Yuuri’s wine. Victor watched quietly as Yuuri thanked the waiter in English, getting a tight smile in response. Then they were alone again, silent as the grave. Yuuri knew this was going badly. Knew it could only ever have come to this point. Especially now, as they tiptoed around the edge of the thing that Yuuri’s lies had driven between them.  
  
‘I have something for you,’ Victor said at last, thankfully changing the subject. Yuuri took another sip of his wine as Victor slipped a hand into his suit jacket. He then nearly choked on said wine as Victor pulled out a neat, white envelope. It was practically luminous in the dim lighting of the restaurant and Yuuri held his breath as Victor held the envelope out for Yuuri to take. Across the table, like a white flag for surrender. Only it wasn’t. It was-  
  
Money.

Yuuri was so stupid. So stupid. _Of course._ Yuuri stared down the envelope, clutching his glass so tightly it tipped, wine almost spilling. Deep down, Yuuri expected this. He expected that once Victor had learned the truth, learned that Yuuri had been lying this whole time, he would want to terminate their arrangement. And there was the proof- tangible, paper weight before him. But it still _stung._ It still bit him sharply at the back of his throat and, embarrassingly, he could feel tears prickle the corners of his eyes once again.  
  
‘Oh,’ was all Yuuri could think of to say. Victor still held the envelope out, but Yuuri couldn’t reach for it. Wouldn’t reach for it. Once he did, that would be the end of… well, everything. Yuuri had known since they’d started that it had to end. But now, staring down the face of it, Yuuri wanted to scramble back into Victor’s arms and beg him to be allowed stay.  
  
Yuuri didn’t realise how long he had been silent until Victor huffed at him. He waved the envelope slightly.  
  
‘Please, take it.’  
  
Yuuri put his wine-glass down. It skidded across the table as he scrambled to keep it upright, but Yuuri bit his lower lip tight to compose himself. He could do this. He did it all the time. He knew it was coming and while Yuuri really didn’t want to, letting Victor go was something he expected and knew he had to make peace with. It was only fair, really, that Victor had decided this. Given everything.  
  
_Then why did you skate?_ Yuuri screamed into his head, but didn’t ask. _Why did you skate for me at all? Why do any of this?_  
  
Some terrible, fragile thing, deep inside, whispered that maybe it was because Victor was telling him something. That _maybe_ Victor was reaching out to him. But rationality quickly stomped that hope down. Yuuri knew better than that. Victor was _the_ Victor Nikiforov, what would he want with a washed up nobody who had done nothing but prove how unworthy he was of the attention to begin with? Victor’s only intention had to have been to show Yuuri that he knew the truth, and Victor’s silence on the matter outside of the rink only showed how little he thought of it.  
  
The tears were truly present now and Yuuri blinked desperately, hoping Victor wouldn’t notice his flush as the reality of the situation hit him as hard and cold as the surface of the ice Yuuri was so familiar with falling on.  
  
Slowly, Yuuri reached out and took the envelope. He could see his own hand shaking, but Yuuri couldn’t bear to look up at Victor. Knew he wouldn’t be able to look at the impassive look Victor no doubt was wearing. Victor had made his decision, and Yuuri as his escort had to respect that. Once he had the envelope, Yuuri went to slip it into his satchel but Victor stopped him with; ‘Open it.’  
  
Yuuri looked at Victor quickly, mouth open in hurt. Open it? Here, now? Yuuri turned the envelope over in his hand. It was light, thin. Cheque then, not cash. Made sense, really. Yuuri stared down at it as he stared back at him, all accusing precision. Did Victor really mean to embarrass Yuuri like this? It didn’t seem in his nature, didn’t seem like the Victor Yuuri had come to know, to care about. The Victor that melted like snow between Yuuri’s fingers and used his teeth to carve space in Yuuri’s skin, in Yuuri’s heart, for Victor to fit in.  
  
Slowly, carefully, Yuuri pried the lip of the envelope up and out of it’s slip. He ran a questioning fingertip over the line of the paper inside, confused as it didn’t sit in the shape of a cheque. Yuuri gave Victor a quick look, but Victor was completely focused on Yuuri’s hands as they pulled the paper out. Yuuri unfolded it, leaving the envelope abandoned on the table.  
  
Looking down, Yuuri skimmed over the illegible Cyrillic before his eyes caught the only English he could recognise. Once he did, the pattern of the tables and boxes on the sheet snapped together in his head in perfect clarity. Yuuri knew what this was. Had seen it before, had one of his own from just a week prior.  
  
_Non-reactive,_ the English read next to the letters Yuuri could recite backwards and forwards after years of his own tests. He ran a finger over where _Negative_ was stamped in following tables. All clear, all negative.  
  
‘I… I don’t know what to say,’ Yuuri said because it was true.  
  
After all that worrying, after all Yuuri had imagined, both good and bad, Victor just wanted… to carry on, as if nothing had happened at all?  
  
Yuuri frowned, pressing creases into the letter from the sexual health clinic. Was that even option? To just carry on, like Victor had never found out the truth? Maybe Yuuri had been right to think it was coincidence. Maybe Victor had been thinking of nothing but their arrangement this whole time. Yuuri’s vision swam for a second as he blinked through the tears, stomach churning itself into an uncomfortable knot.  
  
To be honest, Yuuri wasn’t sure if this was better or worse. It felt worse, but then, Yuuri couldn’t really attest that Victor outright confronting him would’ve been better. But feeling this wrong-footed, this confused- Yuuri felt like he was floating; groundless and very, very lost.  
  
‘Yuuri.’  
  
Yuuri snapped back up to look at Victor at that, eyes wide. It was the first time Victor had said Yuuri’s name since their evening had started, not that Yuuri had been waiting for it, because that would be crazy. (Maybe he’d been waiting, just the smallest bit). Victor was looking at Yuuri with a very guarded expression on his face. It reminded Yuuri starkly of the look Victor wore on the ice. Was this a performance, too?  
  
‘There’s something I’d like to ask you,’ Victor continued, his voice a deep rumble to Yuuri’s earth, shaking the world around them. Yuuri placed the paper down on the table, face down.  
  
This was fine. Yuuri could do this. It wasn’t an unusual request. In fact, it was more common than Victor obviously gave it credit for. Yuuri ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath to try and slip himself back into the persona that had caught Victor’s attention in the first place. Eros was easy, Eros was safe. Eros was evidently all Victor was interested in and if that was the case, then Yuuri was willing to go along with that. Any fantasy Yuuri had indulged in by falling for Victor’s intimacy had to be well and truly put to bed. Now.  
  
‘I’m flattered,’ Yuuri interrupted, before Victor could speak again. He fidgeted with the stem of his glass, just for something to do with his hands. ‘And you’re not the first to ask for this. But I’m sorry, I can’t. In my line of work, I really can’t afford to take any risks like that. You understand, I hope?’  
  
Victor narrowed his eyes, looking at Yuuri with a side glance. ‘I don’t think you understand what I’m asking you.’  
  
‘No, I think I do,’ Yuuri said, like Victor hadn’t spoken at all, holding his hand up to try and stop Victor muttering over him. ‘But even if I were to consider, I don’t have anything prepared for you.’  
  
‘Are you healthy?’ Victor asked and Yuuri blushed, his frail confidence slipping away again. He shook his head quickly, before feeling himself turn even redder as he realised that such an action didn’t look very good at all.  
  
‘Yes! Of course I am, I mean- yes,’ Yuuri finished lamely, covering his face with his hands as he gave into the embarrassment and nerves entirely. What chance was there of saving the situation now anyway? Yuuri sighed, looking at Victor through his fingers. ‘I was tested last week. I’m clean.’  
  
‘Then what’s the problem?’ Victor said, smiling a little for the first time in the night. He reached out, gently taking Yuuri’s hands away from his face. Victor laughed, but it sounded nervous even to himself. ‘Do you find me that repulsive?’  
  
‘You know I don’t,’ Yuuri whispered back, as if there was any level of propriety left in their conversation. ‘But I don’t have the proof with me, I have nothing to give you.’  
  
‘You told me you were fine. That’s enough for me,’ Victor said kindly, running a warm hand over Yuuri’s cheek, into his hair. Yuuri leant into the touch, unable to help himself. Victor was so easy to fall for, Yuuri’s heart beating treacherously like it was calling out beneath his skin for Victor’s touch. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.  
  
Yuuri knew he was fine. He had actively declined appointments, cancelled on clients after Robert. He had tried to work his way through this new, bubbling affection for Victor. Yuuri hadn’t wanted to sleep with anyone else before Moscow, couldn’t bring himself to even consider it as he thought of seeing Victor again. He knew he was in too deep now. Well in over his head. But it was so hard to care when Victor was looking at him _like that._ _  
_  
Like Yuuri was beautiful. Like Yuuri was something to be admired, to be watched with as much attention and adoration as Yuuri had watched Victor all his life. It was humbling. It was terrifying. It was… temporary.  
  
‘I can’t agree to it,’ Yuuri said sadly, pulling away from Victor. He spotted their waiter by the bar, negotiating with the chef. He watched as the waiter pulled tableware through the small window between bar and kitchen. Yuuri sighed and moved, taking the hand in his hair within one of his own. He held it to his face, like Yuuri could somehow hold Victor in his life. ‘I’m sorry. But there are certain boundaries I just can’t cross with a client. Even you.’  
  
Victor said nothing for what felt like the longest time. Yuuri kept his eyes closed, breathed in the scent of Victor’s cologne from his wrist. It filled his chest like water.  
  
‘Yuuri,’ Victor said and Yuuri opened his eyes, meeting Victor’s questioning smile. Victor took Yuuri’s face in his in hand in earnest now, palm cupping Yuuri’s cheek as he guided Yuuri to look at him properly. ‘Like I said, you misunderstand what I’m asking you.’  
  
Yuuri frowned, confused.  
  
‘I haven’t been with anyone since I’ve met you Yuuri,’ Victor said, eyes fixed on Yuuri’s. Yuuri watched Victor right back, feeling his cheeks grow hot at the words. Victor tightened his grip on Yuuri’s other hand, pinching his fingers together so the knuckles were digging in awkwardly. ‘And going forward, I’d like it to stay that way.’  
  
Yuuri’s mouth fell open, surprised. Like Victor always managed.  
  
But Yuuri didn’t dare say anything, didn’t dare breathe a word. It was too good to be true. Yuuri had to be misconstruing it. He had to be. _But the skate!_ The skate, the envelope, Victor’s face-  
  
‘I don’t understand,’ Yuuri said, his voice sounding suspiciously thick as his eyes filled at the corners, forgotten tears making a reappearance.  
  
‘I would also like,’ Victor continued, like Yuuri had said nothing. He was looking at where his hand was touching Yuuri’s face now, seemingly lost in the feeling of it. But Yuuri couldn’t look away from his eyes. ‘I would like if you were to do the same.’  
  
‘The same?’ Yuuri repeated lamely. Victor gave that nervous laugh again.  
  
‘Yes, Yuuri,’ Victor said and Yuuri’s heart tripped over itself at the sound of his name. Victor was looking at Yuuri again, eyes like ink in the dark restaurant light. Yuuri wondered if Victor could see what Yuuri saw when their gaze met like this. ‘I’m hoping, well, I’m _asking_ you to consider, if you want to of course, becoming exclusive. With me.’  
  
Yuuri went to pull back, but Victor suddenly tightened his grip.  
  
‘No more money,’ Victor said sternly, _r_ folding the sentence in half. Yuuri fell into the crease of it. ‘No more Eros. No more pretending.’  
  
Yuuri knew he was breathing too fast, knew it was obvious. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears and could feel the shivers in his fingers, despite how steady Victor tried to hold them. He tried to move away, but Victor wouldn’t let him. Or maybe he wasn’t really trying. Yuuri wasn’t sure. Wasn’t sure what to do, what to say.

To hear this- _those words_ from Victor. Said so genuinely, so sincerely. Like it was nothing, like Victor was asking for the simplest thing. Like it never crossed Victor’s mind that Yuuri could never, would want to never, say no. It was too good to be true. It had to be. Victor couldn’t mean it, he didn’t understand. Yuuri felt dishonest, felt unworthy. He’d only gotten Victor’s attention because he’d been hired as Eros- anything Victor felt for Yuuri was just a by-product of that. It had to be. Yuuri was just… Yuuri. Victor only thought he wanted such a thing with him. It wouldn’t be fair for Yuuri to accept, would it?  
  
Before Yuuri could say anything, their waiter interrupted them again with some curt Russian. Yuuri jumped backwards in his seat, out of Victor’s reach. As the food was placed down, the pasta swimming in something green, Yuuri slipped out of the booth in one, quick motion. Victor leaned around the waiter, face white.  
  
‘Yuuri-!’  
  
‘I need a drink,’ Yuuri replied tightly, turning on his heel and walking away from Victor’s booth. He wove his way through the expensive tables, past the long, angled window that showed the snow drifting in different colours from the skyline. Green, blue and purple. Once Yuuri made it to the bar, he nearly collapsed over it as the anxiety hit him. Waves and waves of panic, shock and most painfully, hope.  
  
Just the night before, Yuuri had been so ready to let Victor walk through his door and break his heart again. Twice over. But now, now the promise of such was being invited to Yuuri over dinner and he wasn’t sure he was prepared for it. Because with sickening, heavy realisation, Yuuri accepted the truth of the matter.  
  
Yuuri liked Victor. He _really, really_ liked Victor. More than he should, more than he ever should’ve allowed himself. Phichit had been right, Yuuri should never have gotten involved. Should’ve called it quits while he was ahead. But it was too late now. Now Yuuri had everything he’d never even known he’d wanted, offered out to him as easily as the barman was now offering water and Yuuri _couldn’t accept._ _  
_ _  
_ How could Yuuri say yes? After everything they’d been through already, it seemed like it would be so easy. Yuuri wanted to. He desperately wanted to. But there was no way it could end well. Once Victor learned the truth about Yuuri- not just the rest about the skating, but the why of Yuuri’s retirement. The drive Yuuri had for escorting. The enjoyment Yuuri used to get from it. The anxiety. Yuuri just knew that once he let Victor all the way in, any illusion Victor had created would be well and truly shattered. Despite how sure Yuuri had been the night before, he was less sure now he could take that rejection.  
  
_‘_ _Vy khotite vypit'?’_ The barman asked and Yuuri jumped, looking at him wildy.  
  
‘Uh…’ Yuuri replied, dazed by the Russian. The bartender tried again, thick eyebrows coming together.  
  
‘Vodka?’ he said, accent strong. Yuuri hated vodka, but he nodded along fervantly.  
  
‘Yes. _Da.’_  
  
Yuuri remembered that one.  
  
Once the vodka was in front of him, straight and in a long glass, Yuuri considered going back to Victor. But he couldn’t move. Or wouldn’t. Yuuri wasn’t sure. Instead, he just stared down at his glass, wondering if Phichit would answer if he were to call him. Yuuri wanted to call him, wanted to hear his voice. Wanted Phichit to come and get him, like this was some one of those parties Yuuri had just overdone it at.  
  
It wasn’t fair, Yuuri thought to himself for the upteenth time that evening. Why couldn’t anything ever be simple? Why were things with Victor so-?  
  
‘Can I get you a drink?’  
  
Yuuri blinked, looking over his shoulder at the man next to him, the accent much less attractive on him than on Victor. Yuuri gave him a once over, taking him in. Black suit, wide tie. Shiny shoes and a glass of something amber. He was older than Yuuri, definitely. White, but most people here were from what Yuuri could see. He was smiling, too. But Yuuri knew that smile on a man, knew it like the back of his hand.  
  
‘Thank you, but I already have one,’ Yuuri replied, tense shoulders dropping down slightly as he leaned into himself. Muscle memory. Yuuri reached out for his vodka, picked it up. He swirled it around in his glass, not quite prepared to drink it.  
  
‘You look familiar,’ the man said, his English leering as he gave Yuuri an obvious look over. Yuuri shifted his hips. He wasn’t used to feeling uncomfortable in Eros’ clothes, or at least, he hadn’t felt so in quite a long time. But now, in his tight trousers and low shirt, Yuuri felt the stranger’s eyes on him like a burn. ‘I’m sure I’ve seen your face before.’  
  
‘I hope you don’t say that every Japanese person you meet,’ Yuuri said absently, looking back out at the bar. Counting the bottles on the shelves there. He put his glass to his face, tilted it until the vodka burned the front of his lips.  
  
The man laughed loudly, moving in the corner of Yuuri’s eye. When Yuuri looked again, he was out of his seat and moving into Yuuri’s space. He looked at Yuuri with his dark eyes, crows feet tugging the corners.  
  
‘You’re funny.’  
  
‘Am I now?’ Yuuri asked blithely, carefully shifting his shoulders so he wasn’t touching the other man, hoping he’d get the hint. Evidently not, as a wide hand made it’s way to Yuuri’s waist. Yuuri glanced down at it, before looking back up at the man’s face. ‘I think you have the wrong idea.’  
  
‘I’m not so sure,’ the man teased, leaning into towards Yuuri’s ear. Yuuri leaned away, but he was stuck between a bar stool and the man’s body. ‘I think we run in similar circles, I know what you do.’ Yuuri lowered his glass, watching the man from the corner of his eye. ‘Perhaps I could show you around Moscow.’  
  
‘If you know what I’m up to, then you must know I'm unavailable,’ Yuuri said, reaching down and removing the man’s hand. He wasn’t rough, but he held on tight, showing this stranger that Yuuri was a lot stronger than he looked. The man gave away easily, looking no more offended than he had to start with.  
  
‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to convince you?’ he grinned and Yuuri sighed, forcing himself to slip a smile on for him.  
  
‘I’m sorry. But I’d just like to enjoy my drink,’ Yuuri said and the man smiled coyly, glancing around the bar.  
  
‘Such a shame for something like you to be alone though,’ he said and the English sounded ugly in his mouth. Yuuri bit his lip and clutched his glass to his chest. Time to go.  
  
‘Thank you. But I should get back to my seat,’ Yuuri said, about to leave when suddenly an arm slipped itself around his waist. Yuuri started, about to scold the stranger but the words died in his mouth when he turned. ‘Victor…’  
  
Victor was there. And he looked- Yuuri didn’t have a word. But it wasn’t good. The thin line of Victor’s mouth wasn’t good, the way his fingers dug into Yuuri’s waist wasn’t good. The cold, stern gaze he was fixing on the man before them was definitely not good.  
  
‘Everything alright. _miliy?’_ Victor asked, not looking at Yuuri as he did so. Yuuri shifted uncomfortably, trying to worm out of Victor’s grip.  
  
‘Everything’s fine,’ Yuuri muttered as the man before them waved a friendly hand in Victor’s direction, replying in English; ‘All good! I was just chatting to your friend.’

Victor’s eyes narrowed.  
  
‘Chatting,’ Victor repeated coldly and Yuuri felt his stomach drop. The man seemed to pick up on Victor’s tone, too, judging by the way he nervously patted at his own sides. He recovered quickly though, perfectly polished teeth grinning at Victor.  

‘Your friend is quite interesting.’

‘I certainly think so,’ Victor said, pulling Yuuri so close that Yuuri’s drink got stuck between their chests. Yuuri pushed back, but to no avail. Victor's grip was absolute. Victor inclined his chin down, brushing across Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri shivered, unable to stop himself. _‘Solnyshko,_ the meal will grow cold.’

The man laughed before Yuuri could say anything in reply to that. Loud, barking. Like a dog. Yuuri almost moved into Victor’s embrace at the sound, like by instinct. He caught himself quickly.

 _‘Solnyshko?’_ The man repeated, tone obviously mocking. Yuuri flushed, embarrassed at the nickname and nervous of its connotations. He didn't know what it meant. What the man said next was in Russian and whatever it was, it made Victor press the tips of fingers into Yuuri’s waist like a brand. The man glanced down at where they were touching, switching back to English awkwardly: ‘So old fashion for young men.’

‘I like to think it romantic,’ Victor said, smile all sharp at the edges like a blade. Yuuri felt his stomach turn over nervously. He'd never seen Victor smile like that.

‘I bet,’ the man said. When he spoke again, it was back to the Russian. Quick-fire and alien, right over Yuuri’s head like he wasn't even there. Like he was just part of the furniture, Yuuri thought bitterly.

‘Forgive us, but we don't want to trouble you any further,’ Victor said, moving his hips in perfect rotation so Yuuri found himself being careened in front of him, as though they were dancing.

‘Really, no trouble,’ the man smiled back, unmoving. Yuuri looked from where he was between them, from where Victor was staring over him, wondering if the way things were going, he could fuck _and_ punch Victor Nikiforov in the same weekend.

‘Quite,’ Victor bit out over Yuuri’s head. Yuuri could hear his teeth grinding over that one, he was sure.

‘Victor, please,’ Yuuri muttered sternly, genuinely surprised when Victor looked down at him. Yuuri had rather begun to think that Victor had forgotten he was holding a person altogether. Victor blinked down at Yuuri, unpleasant smile still on his face. But the more Yuuri looked at him, the more Victor seemed to relax. Yuuri resisted the urge to huff in impatience at that.

The man behind them gave an obvious cough, startling Yuuri’s attention back to him. He was holding a business card out to Yuuri, who took it dazedly, unsure.

‘My number, if you change your mind.’

‘He won't,’ Victor replied for Yuuri, tone airy, but Yuuri watched as the stranger’s eyebrows rose briefly. He gave Yuuri a quick nod, before taking his drink from the bar and wandering off. Yuuri didn’t bother to watch where he went. But once he was gone, as Victor relaxed, Yuuri twisted out of Victor’s arm, turning to face him.  
  
‘What are you doing?’ Yuuri snapped, putting his drink down on the bar with a little more force than was necessary. He tossed the card after it, uncaring as it skittered over the edge. The bartender looked up briefly, but he looked away once Yuuri glared at him, as if daring him to get involved. When he looked back at Victor, Victor was looking at Yuuri incredulously. Yuuri did not care for it.  
  
‘I’m sorry?’  
  
‘What did you think you were doing, behaving that way?’ Yuuri said, anger suddenly very easy inside of him. It set his blood on fire, panic from before galvanised into something violent as Yuuri felt trapped by Victor in the small space between the bar and the stool.  
  
‘I- I thought he was harassing you!’ Victor said, quietly but Yuuri could hear the emotion behind the words. It did nothing but make Yuuri feel worse, smaller almost. Like Victor thought he was weak.  
  
‘I’m not some damsel,’ Yuuri replied firmly, slapping away Victor’s outstretched hand as it reached for him. ‘I don’t need rescuing. From you, or anyone. I’m capable of looking after myself.’  
  
‘It didn’t look like it from where I was sitting,’ Victor said and he sounded sulky to Yuuri, which only made Yuuri feel even angrier. ‘It looked like he was trying to…’  
  
Victor faltered, but Yuuri heard it anyway. It hurt more than it had any right to.  
  
‘What? Hire me?’ Yuuri hissed quietly, saying aloud what Victor couldn’t. He watched as Victor flinched and it felt like dying. Yuuri folded his arms over his chest, turning away from Victor. Staring at the bottles again. ‘There’s nothing wrong with him asking, Victor.’  
  
Victor touched Yuuri’s shoulder, lightly. Like he was afraid to. Yuuri almost moved him off, almost.  
  
‘I just,’ Victor said, moving closer. Yuuri tightened his grip on himself, fingers sharp into his own arm. ‘I wish you didn’t have to deal with it when you’re not working.’  
  
‘I am working,’ Yuuri said before he could stop himself and instantly regretting it. Victor took his hand off Yuuri’s shoulder like it had been burnt and when Yuuri looked at him, Victor looked stricken. Eyes wide, the blue of them frozen and his lips were parted in something half-said. Yuuri’s heart clenched uncomfortably and he reached out, unable to resist.  
  
But Victor stepped back, out of Yuuri’s reach. With one quick toss of his fringe, the mask Yuuri had come to know slipped back into place. Yuuri had a mask like that, too. He watched as Victor gave him an impassive smile that didn’t make it to his eyes.  
  
‘I think we should head back to the hotel,’ Victor said bluntly, shrugging his shoulders as Yuuri opened his mouth to speak. ‘I’m tired. Should rest for the free-skate tomorrow.’  
  
Yuuri couldn’t think of anything to say, so he said nothing as Victor retreated back to the table to get their coats and Yuuri’s bag. Yuuri followed, mutely and took his coat from Victor just so as well. He looked back at their uneaten food, feeling sick in his stomach.

 

* * *

 

They’d travelled back to the hotel in silence.  
  
Their taxi ride had been filled with nothing but the tinny noise of Russian radio, as the driver had quick given up on trying to get through to Victor, who’d been eerily silent since they’d left the restaurant. Yuuri wasn’t sure what to do. No amount of coy touches, or even fluttered statements of the beauty of Moscow in the snow could tempt Victor back into conversation. So Yuuri stayed silent, too, stewing with his own words echoing back in his head.  
  
Yuuri knew it had been a stupid thing to say. But someone needed to say it.  
  
As they stepped into the hotel room, Yuuri tried not to be hurt as Victor held the door open for him, but still wouldn’t meet his eye. Yuuri shrugged off his coat, carefully hanging it up on the rack by the door. Victor stalked past him, tossing his long brown coat haphazardly over one of the armchairs of the room. Sterile in its modern, white lines and dark wooden furniture. Victor a black shadow. He walked up to the window, curtains open. Streetlight crawled over his shoulders as Yuuri watched his back.

Victor looked like he had in one of the many photo shoots Yuuri had so admired, had so wished he could've been a part of. If even for a moment.  
  
‘I think I’m going to shower,’ Yuuri said, not expecting a reply as he moved towards the bathroom. But Victor spoke, catching Yuuri’s attention.  
  
‘Yuuri,’ Victor said and Yuuri stopped where he was, watching as Victor turned around and looked at Yuuri with his mouth downturned, eyes dark. ‘Wait please.’  
  
Yuuri waited.  
  
Victor ran a hand over the back of his neck. Pushed his hair back. Yuuri wanted to step towards him, wanted to be in Victor’s space now that his initial anger and anxiety had worn off. In the wake of the hurt it had left them both feeling, Yuuri felt the regret so heavy in him it threatened to sink him beneath the floor. But he didn’t know how to explain, where to start.  
  
‘Yuuri, I’m sorry,’ Victor said, meeting Yuuri’s gaze. He watched him carefully, traffic screeching from somewhere far below. The noise of Moscow filling the space between them. ‘I know you can look after yourself. You’re not a weak person, and I don’t think you are. I was just afraid, or worried- I don’t know how to describe it.’  
  
‘What were you afraid of?’ Yuuri tried, already suspecting an answer. Victor looked away guiltily and Yuuri felt the dread settle in his stomach like a weight. When Victor still said nothing, Yuuri swallowed and offered it up; ‘That I’d run off with some stranger instead of you?’ Something ugly reared its head and Yuuri growled; ‘The highest bidder?’  
  
‘No, no! Of course not!’ Victor replied quickly, striding across the room in long steps, every movement elegant. Like always. He came up to Yuuri, hands taking Yuuri’s shoulders gently. ‘I know you wouldn’t.’  
  
‘Do you?’ Yuuri challenged, bringing his hands together and wringing them nervously in case they ended up somewhere they shouldn't, (like on Victor’s waist). ‘Because to me, it looked like you were jealous.’  
  
Victor pursed his lips, but Yuuri spoke before him.  
  
‘Don’t deny it.’  
  
‘I won’t,’ Victor said instantly, _w_ the sharp point of a _v_ in his mouth. ‘I was jealous.’  
  
Yuuri shook his head, rolling his shoulders out of Victor’s grip. He stepped back, looked past Victor and out the window at Moscow. At the snow.  
  
‘I’m sorry, Yuuri.’  
  
‘For what?’ Yuuri said, anger resurfacing as he squirmed under the nervousness beneath his skin, the anxiety swelling in his stomach. Bloated emotion. ‘For being jealous? Or for behaving so terribly about it?’

‘That’s not fair,’ Victor replied tightly and Yuuri jumped at his tone. ‘You don’t think I have the smallest bit of a right to be jealous over you?’  
  
Yuuri frowned, deeply uncomfortable and unsure how to rectify being so. ‘I’m here _with you._ You’re the one who hired me, Victor. I wouldn’t just leave you.’  
  
‘Christ, Yuuri,’ Victor exclaimed, startling Yuuri slightly. Victor turned in one graceful swoop, running his hands over his face in obvious frustration. He shook his head, silver hair like the fins of a fish in the strange light of the hotel room lamps. ‘That’s not the point.’  
  
‘Of course it is,’ Yuuri said, equally frustrated and fast upset with Victor now.  
  
‘How can you think after everything, _everything,_ that all you are to me is that?’ Victor said, his eyes unflinching from Yuuri’s face. ‘I didn’t hire you, Yuuri. I asked you come here.’  
  
‘You mentioned my website-’  
  
‘You mentioned payment,’ Victor countered, interrupting Yuuri. Yuuri snapped his mouth shut at that as Victor held a hand out to him. ‘But you haven’t accepted it.’  
  
‘You haven’t offered,’ Yuuri replied weakly but Victor laughed, breathless and a little manic sounding.  
  
‘You haven’t asked,’ he said, stepping towards Yuuri again when Yuuri refused to take his hand. Victor carefully pulled Yuuri’s hands apart, gently running his fingers across Yuuri’s palms. It was ticklish, but Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to move. ‘If that’s all you want from me, Yuuri, then I’ll give it to you. All you have to do is ask.’

Yuuri had nothing to say that, so he just looked away. He wasn't sure what he wanted- to say, or do. Things had spiralled rather quickly and now Yuuri found himself in unknown territory. He never did well under pressure. He turned on the balls of his feet, like a stilted pirouette on the soft carpet. Nervous spinning. When your blade was blunt and caught the rotation wrong.

His hands slipped out of Victor’s as he moved. Yuuri wanted to tell Victor that he wished things had been different.  
  
‘We can’t do this,’ Yuuri said instead of that, the steadiness he’d been so happy to have achieved earlier wavering beneath the words. Victor looked down at him, making Yuuri feel self-conscious of his height. Phichit never made him feel small. But Victor towered over him, all perfection and frozen fever dream.  
  
‘Why not?’ Victor asked quietly, slowly touching Yuuri’s bottom lip. Pressing his thumb there like he was going to pry Yuuri open with it, unlock his secrets. Yuuri tugged his bottom lip beneath his teeth.  
  
‘This-’ Yuuri was the one who stepped back this time. He moved a hand manically between himself and Victor. ‘This thing we have, it’s not dating. We’re not dating, Victor.’  
  
‘I know that-’  
  
‘I don’t think you do,’ Yuuri continued, right through Victor’s sentence. ‘You’re not my boyfriend, Victor. You can’t be.’  
  
There was silence after that. Damning, ugly silence. It filled the room, pulled the walls in closer and made Yuuri feel very small. So small he might vanish, like the world was swallowing him. But it wasn’t. He wasn’t going anywhere. Instead he was frozen, staring at Victor’s strikingly open face. The wounded look in his eye, cut through like glass.  
  
He needed to say it. If not for Victor, then for himself. But now it was there, Yuuri wished he could reach out and take it back.

‘I see,’ was all Victor said and Yuuri felt the tell-tale pinch in the back of his throat that tears were coming. Not now, Yuuri thought desperately. Yuuri was so ugly when he cried. ‘Forgive me, for thinking differently.’ Yuuri flinched at that. ‘But you haven’t exactly been the most professional, Yuuri.’  
  
‘I’m s-sorry?’ Yuuri stammered, affronted and surprised.  
  
‘Well, seeing as I _hired_ you,’ Victor continued furiously, throwing Yuuri’s own word back at him like a dagger. ‘Then I feel it’s within my rights to ask you to be more appropriate in regard to our arrangement. And especially in regards to other people.’  
  
Yuuri said nothing at first, knowing deep down that Victor must be deliberately baiting him. Victor had never shown any sign of being so cruel before. But that didn’t stop the anger that erupted inside of him, the burning heat of it as it filled his cheeks and spilled down his neck. Yuuri thrust his hands down by his sides, balled into tight, hard fists.

‘Excuse me?’ he asked, incredulous. Victor raised his chin, as if in challenge.

‘What if the next man isn’t so good, Yuuri?’ Victor said seriously. ‘Not every client is going to be like that. And what if I’m not there? What if I can’t help you?’  
  
‘I already told you, I don’t need you to,’ Yuuri sighed, frustrated. He rubbed at his face roughly, more spreading the tears than actually wiping them away. They were hot on his skin, irritating it with salt. ‘I've managed just fine without you all this time. You're not my- _my knight in shining armour._  I don't need you to run after me, thinking you're protecting me.’ Yuuri shook his head, stunned by Victor’s arrogance. ‘Do you think you’re the first client to think that? The first to ask me?’  
  
‘I had hoped I was your first lover to ask,’ Victor said curtly and any response Yuuri had for that died in his throat. Lover. He looked up at Victor, saw his long jaw-line and pointed nose. Felt the tears grow cool on his wrist where he’d wiped them as Victor kept talking. ‘When we’re- like that, I feel like it's my responsibility to take care of you.’

‘It isn't. I’m fine.’

‘You don't have to be. Not for me, not when I hire you anyway,’ Victor said, before seemingly hearing himself and stammering. ‘Ah. No, not like that.’

‘No, I think exactly like that,’ Yuuri spat back, hurt pointed like the end of needle in him. Victor’s cheeks went pale in the ambient lighting as Yuuri sniffled, their distance rotating like some great, cosmic orbit as Victor tried to get closer and Yuuri moved away.

‘Yuuri, please, I'm trying,’ Victor said at length, sounding both angry and desperate. Yuuri didn't care for either, instead focusing on trying to stop crying. ‘I just feel… possessive, I guess. I just wish you didn't have to be that way when-’  
  
‘You hypocrite,’ Yuuri snarled, voice trembling with indignation. ‘How dare you stand there and try that? Like I'm just _your_ whore.’ Victor balked at the word, his mouth opening but Yuuri kept talking, unable to stop the tirade. ‘I’m not yours. Or anyone’s anything, Victor. I’m my own person and this is my job _,_ that I chose _._ Who are you to try and tell me how I should do it?’

‘But it's not what you want!’ Victor threw back, Yuuri jumping at his outburst.

‘How would you know? You don't know anything about what I want,’ Yuuri said wetly and Victor ran both hands over his face again.  
  
‘That’s not how I meant it,’ Victor said meekly, but Yuuri scoffed, meanly.  
  
‘I know exactly how you meant it,’ he said, pointing an accusing finger at Victor squarely. ‘You don’t want me sleeping with other people. That’s what you’re really asking. Isn’t it? For me to quit this- my life, for you.’  
  
Yuuri dared Victor to deny it. But Yuuri knew he wouldn’t, that he couldn’t. The proof was in the crumpled up sheet of paper Yuuri had shoved into his satchel. Victor’s request. Exclusivity. Yuuri knew better than that.

‘Don't you want to?’ Victor asked softly, the quiet of his voice throwing Yuuri off. Yuuri pulled his hand back, folding in on himself like the origami his mother would do for the tourists back home. Bent inwards, inverted wings.

His mother had actually always been rather bad at it. Never taught Yuuri that well. Their cranes were always lopsided. So strange, to remember these things now.

‘Why would you think that?’ Yuuri said, watching as Victor rolled his shoulders like a tide.

‘Haven't you felt it?’ Victor pressed, stepping towards Yuuri cautiously. Yuuri was frozen, letting Victor come closer like he always did. ‘This thing between us, Yuuri. It can't just be me. There are times when I look at you and I swear I see it in you, too.

Yuuri flushed at how obvious he was. Like he'd ever had any chance of hiding how much Victor meant to him. It was mortifying to know Victor could read it so easily. Terrifying that Victor would even suggest at feeling similarly. Yuuri’s stomach rolled with nauseous anxiety and not for the first time, Yuuri felt cornered. Boxed in by the length of Victor’s arm, the presence of his face. The lines Yuuri had drawn in futility between them.

‘I've done the alone thing, Yuuri,’ Victor said, eyes fixed on the floor. He looked so much taller than Yuuri knew him to be. Sharp, modeled edges and long lines. His hands perched on his hips, like he was unsure what to do with them. Yuuri was sure he’d never get used to seeing Victor nervous.

‘With you, it’s different. For the first time, I feel like I've the chance to be something other than alone,’ Victor continued, looking up to Yuuri again and Yuuri’s throat grew tight. He swallowed awkwardly around his words.

‘Don't you like that? Being alone?’ Yuuri asked genuinely, thinking of Victor’s freedom. The glossy, magazine appeal of it. Victor Nikiforov, with his medals and his talent, his beauty- so high above the world that no one could touch him. Unlike Yuuri, who was like a mirror that had gathered the smudges and fingerprints of a thousand strangers. Reflecting back. Victor had the luxury of being honest.

‘It's been what I could have,’ Victor replied quietly. ‘I imagine you understand that.’

Yuuri did. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop from saying so.

Victor took one step forward, body open. Yuuri’s grip on himself tightened, afraid he'd do something stupid like reach out towards Victor.

‘Can't we try being something else?’ Victor asked, his accent growing soft in his mouth. Like he was wearing down the edges, just for Yuuri.

Yuuri thought of Phichit, and strangely, his sister Mari. Their short, stilted conversations as Yuuri lied through his teeth through Skype. The truth bending back in Japanese until it was unrecognisable. He remembered Phichit’s odd socks, red spots and plain grey, as he caught Yuuri in the hallway before he left for Moscow. Yuuri thought of the distance there still- the space Yuuri was still so reluctant to let go of.

The space Victor was trying to march through like no man’s land.

Panicked, Yuuri changed tact.  
  
‘What's the plan, Victor?’ Yuuri asked, bordering on hysterical now. He waved his hands in front of him, as if gesturing to Victor’s suggestion like it were some physical thing between them. ‘You come visit me in the States at weekends? I just spend my days- what? Waiting for you? Be realistic. You don't even know me!'

‘Well, you're not giving me much of a chance!’ Victor snapped back, his frustration obvious and Yuuri flinched at hearing it.  
  
‘I barely even know you,’ Yuuri finished quietly, lowering his hand and withdrawing back into himself. Victor moved, but didn’t come forward. Yuuri wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.  
  
‘We both know that’s not true,’ Victor said sadly, his tone defeated and Yuuri felt his heart pull into some terrible knot. Yuuri did know. He knew but he couldn’t say. Not like it mattered now anyway. 

Yuuri sighed. ‘What you feel Victor, it isn't real-’

‘Don't stand there and think you know what I do or don't feel,’ Victor snapped, startling Yuuri with how upset he sounded. ‘I know my own heart, Yuuri.’

Tears bloomed again, hot and ticklish. Yuuri tried to blink them away but there was no use. They slipped out easily and followed the tracks on his cheeks.  
  
‘It’s my job, Victor,’ Yuuri said, hoping Victor would understand. Willing him to. Better for Yuuri to take his silly, teenage pining back to America with him and let Victor forget. Just like he had the first time. Yuuri blinked and tears streamed down his cheeks. ‘It’s my job.'

‘Yuuri,’ Victor sighed and his name sounded awfully like _please_ in Victor’s voice like that.  
  
‘I’m not trying to hurt you, Victor,’ Yuuri said truthfully, as he really wasn’t. But they needed to be smart about this. They needed to be clear. Yuuri pushed on, through the tears and wet nose. ‘But this job, what I do... that’s the way it is.’  
  
‘I’m not judging you for what you do, Yuuri,’ Victor said so earnestly that Yuuri almost believed him. ‘You’re job isn’t who you are. If you don’t want to quit, then don’t! I don’t care what you do for a living! I care about _you.’_  
  
Yuuri stopped sniffling at that, but he forced himself to swallow down the hope. Yuuri knew he couldn’t deny that anymore- he knew Victor cared. Could feel it radiating off him. Yuuri cared, too. A lot. But Victor didn’t know Yuuri the way Yuuri knew himself, didn’t know how truly aimed at disaster they were if Yuuri were to let Victor do this. Victor thought he could handle it. But Yuuri knew better.  
  
‘You say that, but Victor, you can’t mean it,’ Yuuri said as Victor groaned exasperatedly. ‘Look at tonight. Look at all the times we’ve been together. You mean to tell me that you’re going to be able to just turn your jealousy off?’  
  
Victor’s lips thinned at that, but he tried smiling anyway. Yuuri hated that smile, despite his years of admiring it on the shining paper of his posters. Yuuri knew that smile for what it truly was now. He didn't want Victor’s mask, not when he knew how beautiful the real Victor was.  
  
‘I think I can handle it.’  
  
‘I know that you can’t,’ Yuuri said. Victor laughed in frustration, running a hand through his hair again. Yuuri had begun to notice that he did that when he was nervous.  
  
‘You’re not being fair, Yuuri,’ Victor said, hanging onto his own neck by a hand, elbow bent. Like a pose in the centre of the rink. Yuuri felt the yearning in him so strong it threatened to pull him tumbling down.  
  
‘I’m being fair to myself,’ Yuuri replied miserably. ‘No one is really okay with what I do, Victor. What makes you think you’ll be any different?’  
  
‘I know I’m different,’ Victor urged, moving towards Yuuri again. Yuuri automatically moved back.  
  
‘You get jealous now. How will it be if we actually try this?’ Yuuri said, shaking a hand between them so Victor understood his meaning. ‘You call me, all the way back in Detroit, ask how my day was. And what do I say? _It was fine, slept with someone else. The usual. That’s okay, right?_ Then what? You just sit here in your beautiful hotel room and accept it?’

Victor frowned at him, obviously unimpressed. But Yuuri held firm, knowing he was right.  
  
‘We met because I was hired to have sex with you,’ Yuuri forced himself to say, but the words were so quiet. Did Victor hear him? Did he understand? ‘That’s never going to go away. What happens when we realise that?’

‘We’ll work it out,’ Victor said, that awful, hopeful smile back on his face. Yuuri shook his head, but Victor kept going. ‘Together. We can do this together.’

‘It'll never work!’ Yuuri retorted desperately. ‘I know what I'm like. You don't understand. I'll fuck it up, you'll be upset and-’  
  
‘Yuuri,’ Victor said gingerly, hands up. Like surrender. ‘Please. You can’t end us before we even get started.’ 

 _I'm doing this for you,_ Yuuri reminded himself desperately. But even to himself the argument was weak. Yuuri knew himself too well for that. Victor thought he knew what he wanted. Yuuri had to protect Victor, and himself, from that.

‘Do you know that if any other client behaved the way you have, I’d have blocked them?’ Yuuri said, knowing he was flailing now. He tried to sound strong, but his voice shook. Would that work? Would Victor think Yuuri was afraid? Yuuri was afraid, but not of Victor. Never of Victor. ‘I would’ve changed my number. Ignored any appointment requests.’  
  
‘Then why didn’t you?’ Victor asked and Yuuri froze, not expecting it.  
  
_Because I didn’t want to,_ Yuuri thought immediately, wrapping his arms back around himself defensively. _Because I like you, I want you in life._  
  
Yuuri couldn’t say any of that. Instead, he just pulled at his lips with his teeth. But Victor seemed to notice Yuuri’s hesitation, eyes brightening. He moved towards Yuuri, white skin stark against the black of his shirt. Silver hair catching the light in yellow waves. Yuuri stood, enraptured and terrified as Victor reached out with both hands, cupping Yuuri’s face. His thumbs rubbed the tear tracks on Yuuri’s cheeks.  
  
‘I’m sorry I’m pushing you, Yuuri,’ Victor said softly, leaning his head down so he and Yuuri were pressed forehead to forehead. ‘Please know, I’m not trying to upset you. And I don’t want you to give up anything you don’t want to, I would never ask that. Don’t change your life, just… let me be a part of it. Even a small one. Please.’  
  
Yuuri realised he was crying again too late. The tears pooled between Victor’s fingers. He closed his eyes, leaned into Victor’s touch. Let Victor’s cologne and his warmth surround him. Yuuri felt Victor hold him steady, felt Victor move closer until their bodies were pressed together. All cautious, tremoring touch. A hand roamed down Yuuri’s neck, Victor moving his fingers across Yuuri’s skin in a way that was now achingly familiar. Yuuri melted into it, giving himself over despite the nerves in his head screaming at him not to.  
  
‘Why?’ Yuuri whispered, voice croaking. ‘Why me? You could have anyone, look at you. You’re Victor Nikiforov.’  
  
‘And you’re Katsuki Yuuri,’ Victor replied just as quietly and Yuuri gasped, stunned by Victor saying his full name like that. Saying it so easily. Like he had practiced it. Yuuri’s heart grew light in his chest, like it might float right out of him and into Victor’s hands. ‘That doesn't sound too bad, does it? Victor and Yuuri. Yuuri and Victor.’  
  
‘Victor…’ Yuuri reached out, twisting his hands into Victor’s shirt and tugging him closer.  
  
‘No more games, Yuuri,’ Victor said in the damp air between them. Yuuri could almost feel his lips moving, they were so close. ‘No more hiding. From either of us. I like you, Yuuri.’ Victor moved his other hand away from Yuuri’s face, wet cheeks going cool from the absence. Victor snaked it down and around Yuuri’s waist, pulling them closer together if there was such a thing. ‘And I think- I hope, you like me, too.’  
  
Yuuri squeaked, stupidly, but the noise couldn’t be stopped as it bubbled up and out of Yuuri’s throat. Victor flexed his fingers against Yuuri’s neck gently, comfortingly.  
  
‘Please say you do, too. Do you, Yuuri?’ Victor pressed, his voice rough and everything Yuuri wanted. Yuuri sniffled, more tears. Victor laughed, a soft, fragile thing. ‘You know, I’ve never had to ask anyone if they liked me before.’  
  
Victor leaned away, Yuuri chasing after him without really noticing he was doing so. He opened his eyes and noticed, with a shock, that Victor had tears in his eyes, too. Yuuri had never seen Victor cry before. He looked as beautiful as ever, unlike Yuuri who could feel how blotchy he must look. But it didn’t matter, because Victor was looking at Yuuri _like that_ again and it felt like having the sun on his skin.  
  
‘Do you like me?’ Victor asked again, watching Yuuri and biting his lip. The action was so small, so endearing. It was the last bit of Yuuri’s resolve.  
  
Slowly, very slowly, Yuuri looked Victor in the eye, and nodded.  
  
Victor sagged, his shoulders dropping and his eyes closing in clear relief as Yuuri nodded for him. Yuuri felt similarly. He felt like they had been going for hours, though he knew it must only have been minutes. But he felt hollow, empty. Like their conversation had drained him somehow. His bones ached, his nose was throbbing. But for the first time in a long time, Yuuri realised what that quivering, buoyant feeling in his chest was.  
  
Yuuri was… happy.

 

* * *

  
It had felt like too short a time before they had parted, Yuuri’s discomfort at his snotty nose and red cheeks pushing him reluctantly out of Victor’s grip so he could clean up in the bathroom. Victor suggested a shower, which Yuuri agreed with. He had kissed Victor briefly before leaving for the bathroom, lips grazing against Victor’s in unusual chasteness. That kiss had felt new in a way kisses hadn't for Yuuri in a long time. Even now, under the warm spray of the shower, Yuuri absently touched his mouth with a slightly wrinkled finger.

He smiled into it, warm and indulgent emotion blossoming inside of him. It felt like it ran with the water, all the way down to his toes. Yuuri reached out and turned the shower off. It hadn't even been ten minutes, but his nose was clear and his heart was wrenching.

Yuuri patted himself dry before wrapping the towel around his waist. For a moment, he considered a bathrobe, the blurred sight of his domed stomach and sharp ribs in the mirror flooding him with unusual insecurity. But Yuuri thought of Victor's words and reached for the door instead. No more hiding.

Victor was sitting on the edge of the bed, feet bare on the plush carpet. Yuuri watched him, breath stopped like a clock in his chest as Victor looked up to meet his gaze. Just now, it was nothing but that look between them. Yuuri followed the line of Victor’s shoulders, the curve of his waist. The way his hands were clasped together as if in prayer.

Yuuri was moving before he even realised, stepping into Victor’s space and still not finding it to be enough. Victor opened his arms for Yuuri, sighing with loud relief as Yuuri went further, sitting himself on Victor’s lap.

He could live here, he thought as Victor wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s bare waist. Make a home out of Victor’s arms.

Victor’s eyes moved over Yuuri’s face slowly, the blue of them crystalline. Yuuri wanted to touch Victor’s cheek, wanted to trace the line of the face he so admired. Yesterday, to do so would've been easy. But now, Yuuri found himself strangely cautious. Yesterday, Yuuri was someone else. Now, Yuuri sat in his own skin and wondered what he'd ever done to deserve this. He absently wished he hadn't left his glasses in the bathroom.

‘Can I kiss you?’ Victor asked, whispering and just a little shy. Yuuri’s heart soared and he answered by pressing his lips roughly against Victor’s, pushing his tongue into the wet heat of Victor’s mouth in desperation.

‘Yes,’ Yuuri breathed between fevered kisses, licking the edge of Victor’s lips and opening his mouth wide for Victor to slip his tongue into. ‘Always. Never stop.’

Yuuri moaned as his tongue met along Victor’s, hands tangling themselves into Victor’s hair. Victor's grip on Yuuri’s waist tightened, turning pinching but it just made Yuuri keen, grinding himself down into the rough fabric of Victor’s slacks. The expensive wool was like a burn against Yuuri’s skin and something that Yuuri hadn't known to be aching inside of him suddenly lit up.

It burst out of him in grabbing desperation as Yuuri ran his hands down Victor’s neck, his shoulders, his arms. He rocked on top of Victor, his cock hardening beneath the pulled towel. It pressed up against Victor’s stomach, the friction right between their bodies as Yuuri opened his mouth wider, trying to swallow down Victor’s tongue like it was something else.

Victor kissed him like that, wet and filthy, as his hands began to wander. They tugged impatiently at the towel, scraping it off Yuuri in short pulls. Once free, Yuuri’s skin was Victor’s to roam. Hard presses into his ass, skittering touch on his back. Each touch blazed across him and he felt like he was melting from the inside out. Bare to the room and Victor’s gaze, Yuuri pulled back from Victor’s kiss to see. What he saw made his gut spike hot arousal like thorns, prickling deep in his belly. Victor was looking at Yuuri with dark, wild eyes. His lips were shining, hair in unruly tufts.

 _I did that,_ Yuuri thought reverently, reaching out to touch the fraying edges of Victor’s fringe. The gnawing, tight heat Yuuri felt coiling in low his abdomen had him rolling his hips down, grinding his cock against Victor’s shirt. He felt needy, primal. His want was voracious in a way Yuuri had never thought himself capable of.

Not until Victor. Perfect, gorgeous, stupid Victor who'd opened himself up to Yuuri and invited Yuuri to step through, arms waiting.

There was a hand in his hair, Victor’s grip painful as he held Yuuri at an angle so that when he kissed Yuuri again, Yuuri was only surrendering to Victor’s tongue and his teeth. Biting, sucking kisses that had Yuuri’s mouth pooling, his throat trembling with a groan and his cock aching to be touched. Yuuri’s hips rolled back and forth in a lazy, luxurious motion as he felt the swell of Victor beneath him, the hard line of Victor’s cock on the inside of his thigh.

‘I want you,’ Yuuri panted against Victor’s cheek as Victor released his lips briefly, licking a hot, wet stripe down Yuuri’s jaw. Yuuri bucked forward, foreskin catching on the buttons of Victor’s shirt as his cock was squeezed between them. Victor made a small aborted noise that went straight to Yuuri’s balls. ‘I can't. Please, Victor-’

‘Yeah, yes. Anything,’ Victor babbled in reply, nipping his way down Yuuri’s throat as his other hand pushed its way down Yuuri’s back. Like Victor was trying to bruise his path down- map out every touch, every moment of this. Yuuri felt the sentiment so strongly it made him whimper.

Yuuri struggled against Victor’s grip in his hair for a moment as Victor teased his fingers between Yuuri’s ass, the meat of Victor’s finger circling his rim in cautious, teasing promise. Yuuri tried to arch his back, tried to get Victor where he wanted him but Victor didn't falter in his grip. He held Yuuri steady, seemingly watching himself over Yuuri’s shoulder. When he pushed the tip of his finger in, dry and gentle, Yuuri moaned so loud he felt his chest shake with it.

Yuuri wanted it so bad. Had never wanted to be filled the way his body was screaming for it now. Whenever they were together, Yuuri always felt the need for Victor like an itch. But this was different to then. Now, as Yuuri ran his hands in desperate, frantic motions along Victor’s chest as Victor slowly pumped his finger in and out of Yuuri’s pliant body, up to the first knuckle, Yuuri could only think about how much he wanted Victor. Not because of the fantasy, or even the memory of how good it was. But because Yuuri was allowed- more than that, he was welcomed.

It was the most dizzying, beautiful thing Yuuri had ever been given.

 _‘Yuuri~,’_ Victor growled into Yuuri’s shoulder as Yuuri started to whine, cock leaking wet between them. He bit lightly, sparking pleasure hitting Yuuri somewhere deep. ‘I want you so much.’

‘Have me. Please,’ Yuuri begged, breathless as Victor pulled his finger out of him. He stretched Yuuri’s rim with the one finger, getting Yuuri to tremble before Victor finally let go all over, hands moving back to circle Yuuri’s waist. Yuuri ducked forward, pushing Victor onto his back on the bed with a strong kiss, forcing his tongue into Victor’s mouth inelegantly.

Victor’s hands moved to hold onto the plump of Yuuri’s ass. He gripped tight there and ground his hips up. Yuuri moaned around Victor’s tongue as he felt the hard edge of Victor’s cock press into him through the wool of his slacks. His own desperation, stuck hard and so wet between them, twitched as Yuuri bucked into Victor’s reassuring, perfect weight.

‘Yours,’ Yuuri whispered, almost delirious, pulling away so he could slip his own fingers into Victor’s mouth. Victor closed his lips around them and sucked with dirty, dark intent as his eyes stayed fixed on Yuuri’s. Yuuri started to grind himself against Victor’s clothed stomach in earnest now, the sight of Victor swallowing around any part of him setting his blood on fire. Overwhelmed, Yuuri withdrew his fingers and reached behind himself. ‘All yours.' 

‘Yuuri,’ Victor repeated, throat raw from Yuuri’s fingers. It seemed like all he could manage and Yuuri felt more humbled by the way Victor said his name than he ever had by anything before.  
  
They had lube on the bedside cabinet, not even put away from when they’d used it the night before. It wouldn’t even be a thirty-second parting to go and get it. But Yuuri didn’t want to move from where he was, didn’t want to peel himself from Victor’s body or unwrap Victor’s arms from where they were firm around him. He pressed a spit-slick finger into himself, body loose from the shower and he groaned against Victor’s throat, eagerness having him push his finger all to way to the second knuckle. Victor ran a hand down Yuuri’s back, reaching past Yuuri’s tailbone. The tip of one of his fingers met where Yuuri was pressing into himself and Yuuri felt Victor’s moan from beneath him before he heard it.  
  
Yuuri ground against Victor, his cock scraping against the fabric of his shirt, the cool of his buttons, as Yuuri pumped into himself with increasing lack of finesse. Victor had one of his hands in Yuuri’s hair again, flexing fingers that tugged at the dark strands then held the back of Yuuri’s head like something precious. The other was stroking the wrist Yuuri had bent behind himself, warm comfort and nails biting in a possessiveness that Yuuri wanted to drown in. They moved like that together, Yuuri’s body growing hot and impatient.  
  
His finger turned dry far too quickly and Yuuri growled in frustration, Victor laughing beneath him. Gently, Victor guided Yuuri back as Victor sat up, cradling Yuuri lest he fall. Yuuri sank into Victor’s weight, hands pulling away from himself and he let himself be moved, shivering from where his sweat and precome cooled between them in the movement.  
  
‘We have all night,’ Victor teased, kissing the corner of Yuuri’s mouth. Yuuri turned his head and caught Victor’s lips, sucking the bottom one between his teeth. He ran his tongue along the swell of it after and took Victor’s small breath of surprise like it was his own. Yuuri knew they had all night. Knew they had more than that, that Victor had offered more- but Yuuri didn’t want to test those limits. He needed Victor _now._  
  
‘Get undressed,’ Yuuri said as Victor pulled away to suck at the juncture of his throat. Reluctantly, Yuuri slid off Victor to give him the room to get out of his clothes.  
  
As Victor stood by the bed, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, Yuuri kept his eyes fixed on Victor’s. He reached out for the bottle of lube, lay down backwards onto the plush of the beautiful, white linen bed, keeping Victor’s gaze like he always, _always_ wanted to.  
  
Victor’s shirt was caught half off him as Yuuri reached down between his legs with slick fingers, breath stuttering out of him. Victor’s mouth fell open, the pink of his tongue darting out to lick his own lips. The sight of it had Yuuri bending his back, pushing himself down onto the press of his fingers from where he pushed them into himself- too much, too soon but Yuuri didn’t stop, a choked noise coming from the back of his throat. As he opened himself with two fingers, rim turning hot with the wet of the lube and the stretch, Yuuri tilted his head back and closed his eyes, losing himself to the sensation of knowing Victor was watching him.  
  
It felt like a physical touch, knowing Victor was watching. Like Victor’s gaze was something Yuuri could hold in his hands and keep.  
  
Yuuri could distantly hear Victor say something, but it was hard to make it out over the sound of his own body. His breathing was turning ragged, flush feeling liquid as it flooded down through him. Heart pounding in his ears as he grew wet and loose. And a rolling, thick wave of heat in Yuuri’s gut, his cock leaking against his stomach. His hips were moving in short, round bucks as he pulled himself open, panting out into the quiet of their hotel room. Each part of his body, singing for Victor and the want that was pulsing inside of him.  
  
Then Victor was there- naked, warm, sliding between Yuuri’s legs and his hands were everywhere Yuuri needed them. Along his waist, his stomach. His cock brushing against Yuuri's own. Yuuri opened his eyes, just in time for Victor to kiss him. He kissed Yuuri deeply, hands pressing into Yuuri’s skin so it bunched and rolled. Small, needy noises built up between them as Victor reached down, wrapping a large hand around Yuuri’s cock in a tight grip, hard-pressed against where Yuuri’s arm was down between his legs, the other sliding up Yuuri’s chest to splay open across the base of his throat.  
  
‘Ah, god!’ Yuuri cried out, fucking into the tight ring of Victor’s hand, the drag of his own foreskin slick and deliciously perfect. Yuuri flailed behind him on the bed for the lube with his free hand, shoving it blindly towards Victor. Yuuri then thrust the fingers that were currently buried in himself more frantically, trying to chase his own pleasure as it buzzed beneath his skin, just out of reach with the angle.  
  
Victor squeezed the head of Yuuri’s cock, precome spreading across Victor’s hand and sliding down. Yuuri felt the slow, hot trickle of it and he clenched down and around his own fingers, body screaming now for more. The starburst thrill of arousal thick inside of him, the feeling of it heady and addicting. Like everything Victor gave him. Victor let go of Yuuri’s cock, sitting back on his haunches and Yuuri whined at being left alone. The noise tapered into something higher when Victor poured more lube down between Yuuri’s legs, just beneath his balls and down his perineum, the squelch of the excess slick coating his fingers hot in his ears.  
  
_‘Yuuri~’_ Victor whispered, almost reverent as he stared down at where Yuuri was spreading himself open. Yuuri pushed a third finger in, body giving way easily and he watched as Victor turned red, skin blossoming colour like the sakura in spring. Yuuri wanted to taste it, wanted to run his hands over it and see if he could take it with him wherever he went.  
  
Yuuri watched Victor run his hands over Yuuri’s legs, spreading them open further on the bed. Watched as Victor’s ocean gaze fell between his legs. Lying on his back, splitting his body open for Victor to slide into and staring down the face of all his fantasies, Yuuri quite worried his heart would shatter with the gaping, dark hunger that awoke inside of him.  
  
Fantasy was nothing compared to the reality of what was now in front of him.  
  
‘Look at you. Gorgeous,’ Victor purred, slipping a hand down to meet Yuuri’s, the praise creeping in to further push Yuuri towards the edge. Yuuri’s eyes slid closed again as he felt Victor press a finger into him, rim giving with some resistance to the extra penetration. It was extraneous, Yuuri knew that. His body was already easy from the night before, from the shower. But Yuuri wanted Victor to fill him, wanted his whole body to change shape with the feel of Victor inside of him and Yuuri was gluttonous now as Victor surrendered that to him without Yuuri even having to ask.

When Victor took Yuuri’s cock in his hand again, tears and precome leaked like Yuuri’s whole body was bleeding with the need that burned inside of him.  
  
Together, they worked Yuuri open, sweat beading on Yuuri’s face. He could feel it, simmering on the top of his lip, the middle of his forehead. Yuuri rocked between Victor’s grip on his cock and their hands buried inside of him, Victor pushing him deeper but not deep enough to get where he was itching to be hit. It was awkward, Yuuri’s arm stuck between their bodies and Victor struggling to find a rhythm with it. But above him, Victor was muttering, gasping- Russian and English, babbled in small, breathless bursts that had Yuuri squirming. Breaths of _perfect, beautiful_ and _mine_ that set Yuuri’s soul on fire. The Russian Yuuri couldn’t hope to understand, but hearing Victor speak it for him didn’t feel that different to watching Victor skate. Like Yuuri was stepping into Victor’s life, his world and making a place for himself there.  
  
_‘Ah-_ okay. Okay. Enough, now. Now,’ Yuuri managed to grit out from behind his teeth as Victor gave a strong, luxurious stroke to Yuuri’s cock. Yuuri bucked his hips, his free hand twisting the sheets beneath him. He looked up at Victor, waited for Victor to meet his gaze. ‘Fuck me now.’  
  
‘Christ,’ Victor gasped, pulling away from Yuuri so quickly it left Yuuri whining. But Victor silenced him with a bruising kiss, both of Victor’s hands coming up to hold Yuuri’s jaw steady. The slick of the lube and Yuuri’s body was hot on Yuuri’s face, lewd and intimate. Yuuri let Victor fuck his tongue into his mouth, let his body lie open for Victor to fall into. Yuuri pulled his fingers out himself, untangled the other from the bedsheet and got a grip on Victor’s waist.  
  
Victor pressed his body down along Yuuri’s, his hard length sliding in the deep curve between Yuuri’s hip and his pelvis. Victor gave a quick, sticky thrust forward into it, his cock sliding precome on Yuuri’s skin. In Yuuri’s ear, Victor whispered; ‘I want to make you feel so good, Yuuri. I promise. I’ll make you so happy.’  
  
Whatever it was, Yuuri couldn’t say, but something inside him broke.  
  
With one quick, powerful push, Yuuri managed to flip Victor onto his back. He bounced on the bed, a shocked grunt coming from him but Yuuri was already moving, scrambling over Victor’s hips and sitting on his naked lap. Victor’s eyes were wide with amusement, mouth in open surprise and Yuuri leant down to kiss the look right off him.  
  
Possessiveness. It was drunken, hot emotion that ravaged Yuuri’s body like wildfire. Yuuri had never been possessive of anything in his life, never having anything he’d cared about more than the fear of losing it gave him. Not even skating. But suddenly the gravity of what was happening between them- of what Victor was giving him-, hit Yuuri like a physical weight.  
  
Yuuri kissed Victor with hunger, with teeth. He pulled back and bit at Victor’s neck, his throat. Sucked marks where he knew they’d be seen, ran his hands along Victor’s chest like the ribs there could gather his fingerprints like brands. Yuuri wanted to gather Victor’s kiss, the weight of his body and the sound of his voice and put them somewhere safe, where only Yuuri could have them. He’d never had something for himself before and Yuuri wanted to tie Victor up in the humble, fickle truths of his life. Wanted Victor to be more than the small part Victor was happy asking for. Wanted to give Victor everything- if he’d have it.

Running his hands down Victor’s sides, he felt the swell of the muscles Victor had and the tug of his skin. Victor was hard in places Yuuri thought himself soft, all prickled, stern planes where the women Yuuri sometimes tried to emulate were smooth curve. But Victor wasn't a woman, or anything resembling one. He was a man- burning stubble on Yuuri’s neck, calloused hands in Yuuri’s hair. Igniting some terrible, greedy thing, like a molten core, that dripped down Yuuri’s bones and sank in the pit of his stomach.  
  
Feeling the stiff, sticking length of Victor’s cock trailing up the cleft of his ass, Yuuri rocked downward, grinding his own arousal between them. A high, needy noise came from Victor and Yuuri moaned into the skin of Victor’s shoulder with want. He sat up, admiring the dark, red bites he’d left behind. Victor watched him right back, blue eyes the bright turn of the sky to Yuuri’s world. It should be scary, how deeply Yuuri felt for Victor. But staring down the hungry mouth of it, Yuuri was not afraid.  
  
Yuuri readjusted himself carefully, reaching behind and down. Victor’s eyebrows rose, both of his pale, white hands coming to rest on Yuuri’s thighs from where they were spread over Victor’s groin. Yuuri found Victor’s cock, giving it an awkward stroke, spreading the slick of his hand, and Victor groaned, his body writhing beneath Yuuri. Then Yuuri held Victor steady, his other hand pulling at his own rim. Yuuri sighed, anticipation electric inside of him. Buzzing, glittering.  
  
‘Yuuri, wait. We don’t-’ Victor huffed, his voice sounding hollow. Yuuri didn’t wait, didn’t stop. Instead, he raised up on his knees slightly and leant back, sinking down onto Victor in smooth, slick motion. Victor swore, loud and beautiful. _‘Fuck._ Yuuri, _miliy._ A condom, if you-’  
  
‘No,’ was all Yuuri could manage to say, hands skittering for purchase across Victor’s chest, his stomach, as his body stretched around the thick, familiar feel of Victor inside of him. ‘Like this.’ Yuuri arched his back, closed his eyes as Victor sank deeper into him. _‘Yes,’_ slipped out from Yuuri in a breathless whimper, the pulse pleasure of being filled beating through him.  
  
For a moment, it was enough. But then Yuuri opened his eyes again, looked down at the wreckage he had made of Victor. The red of his cheeks, the ink of his eyes. Yuuri had done that. And that one thought had Yuuri lifting up, Victor’s cock sliding gorgeously through him like it was meant to always do so, and then sinking back down with one hard roll of his body. Victor cried out, his own hips thrusting up to meet Yuuri and _finally_ Yuuri felt the thick head of Victor’s cock graze his prostate. It sent sparking, tight pleasure up his spine and around his stomach, straight down to his balls. The razor edge of his arousal cut deep.  
  
Victor’s hands moved, guiding Yuuri up more onto his knees as Victor used the space created to move. He held Yuuri there with tight fingers and fucked Yuuri in slow, dirty grinds upwards. His cock slid in and out with ease, Yuuri’s body clenching tight around it like Yuuri’s heart closed itself around Victor. Yuuri knew that there wasn’t really much difference, but the knowledge that there was no condom, that it was just the drag of Victor’s skin and the beading spread of his precome that pulled inside of him, had Yuuri moaning loud and abandoned.

The sound of himself filled the room and Yuuri thought, madly, how he wanted to live in this small, hot space forever. Just the two of them.  
  
He threw his head back, bouncing down to meet Victor’s strong thrusts upwards. Each time they met, Victor’s cock would push against Yuuri’s prostate, causing Yuuri to cry out and pinch at Victor’s skin. His hands bunched and nails bit into Victor’s chest, scratched lines into Victor because he could. Because he was allowed.  
  
Yuuri closed his eyes, biting a moan between his teeth as Victor grazed that perfect place inside him once again. He leant back, almost toppling but Victor moved beneath him. Victor sat up, following Yuuri’s body and his arms came hard around Yuuri’s waist, holding him steady. They traveled up, palm up and spread across Yuuri’s back. Victor held Yuuri flush, fingers tight on Yuuri’s skin. The new angle had Victor aborted in his movements, but Yuuri didn’t care because Victor was holding him. His Victor.  
  
Yuuri moved his hands from where they were stuck between them. He opened his eyes, panting heavily as Victor’s cock dragged wet and thick. He clenched hard around it, fingers trembling and cock pulsing with desperation from where it was squeezed between their stomachs. It grew hot and wet there, precome and sweat pooling together. Yuuri could smell the faint remnants of Victor’s cologne, the sweet notes of his own soap from the shower. And the salt of their sweat, the tang of their sex. Yuuri took Victor’s face in his hands, thumb boldly swiping across Victor’s bottom lip.  
  
_I’m the only one,_ Yuuri thought to himself as Victor continued to move beneath him. Continued to make love to him in that beautiful, satisfying way that had now become so familiar. Yuuri thought of the articles he’d read about Victor all his life, the gossip forums and the blurred Instagrams. Victor Nikiforov- untouchable, transcendent. Alone.  
  
But not anymore.

 _I’m the only one who can satisfy him,_ Yuuri thought dreamily, running a hand up and into Victor’s hair. Twisting his fingers into it, tugging and whining as Victor fucked him just right. _I’m the only one in the world who knows him like this._  
  
Yuuri felt the truth of his thoughts in every kiss Victor pressed to his throat, every murmured breath of his name and _yes_ and _please._ Victor Nikiforov, who had the whole world at his feet, asking Yuuri for simply the move of his body, the sound of his voice. Like those things were worth even half as much as Victor was worth to Yuuri. Yuuri thought his heart might break from the weight it had. Crack it down the middle. Ice fissuring.  
  
Victor suddenly barrelled forward, tipping them both over so Yuuri was spread out on his back. Yuuri gasped, breath drowned out by Victor falling on top of him, kissing him with an open mouth. Victor pulled out, only to situate himself better between Yuuri’s legs. He pulled away from Yuuri’s mouth, using both hands to spread Yuuri’s legs open. Yuuri watched as Victor pushed himself back into the wet heat of Yuuri’s hole, rim stretching deliciously with the new position as the blunt pressure of Victor opened him up. Yuuri tipped his head into the bedsheet, moaning so sharp it threatened to puncture him.  
  
_‘Yuuri,’_ Victor gasped, bending down so they were chest to chest. Yuuri wrapped his arms around Victor’s back. Victor burrowed his hands beneath Yuuri, under his body. Yuuri’s legs fell wide with Victor between them, fucking into Yuuri with a satisfying stretch that Yuuri knew he'd feel for days after. Then Victor shifted his hands, shoving them down so he could hold Yuuri by his lower back- getting the angle _just fucking right._

The world narrowed down to this one, perfect point. The fullness of Victor's cock getting so deep into him, Victor’s rough moans into his neck as he thrust into the scorching clench of Yuuri’s body. Yuuri was reduced to small, whining gasps now as Victor slammed into him with torturous precision, fucking Yuuri just the way he wanted it, sending bursts of pleasure sparking through Yuuri’s belly straight to his cock.

‘Victor, Victor, Vic- _ah!’_ Yuuri cried out, tripping over Victor’s name. He dug his hands into Victor’s back, scraped down it as his cock pulsed suddenly. His orgasm felt it was being pulled out of him like a thick, throbbing splinter. Gut flushed with pooled heat, come explosive and wet between their stomachs, their chests. Victor shuddered above him, fingers bruising into Yuuri’s skin as Yuuri clenched down around Victor’s cock in desperate spasm. His cry teetered down to a meek whimper as Victor started to slam into him again, movement frantic through Yuuri’s sensitivity. Yuuri closed his eyes and let the waves of it roll through him.

Then something stammered between them, Victor’s body pressed flush to Yuuri’s as he ground his cock down in one, hard slap. Victor bit Yuuri’s shoulder, growled into the skin there and Yuuri yelped as he felt the phantom spread of Victor spending inside of him. The full feeling swelled beneath his skin, pulsing through his lower back as his muscles desperately clenched down on where Victor was. It was the most gorgeous feeling in the world.

Victor was frozen while he came, his hair fanned out across Yuuri’s shoulder and his hands still holding Yuuri close. Yuuri lay with Victor atop of him, basking in the warmth and sated comfort. Then Victor slowly, lazily rolled his hips and Yuuri moaned as he felt the drag of Victor’s softening cock, felt the pull of skin as Victor pulled out of him. He tipped his head back, throat choking on the noise he made when he felt Victor slide out of him, his arms falling back above his head. Victor collapsed down next to Yuuri, his head in the crook of Yuuri’s throat and an arm stretched out across Yuuri’s ruined chest. Their legs were a mess together, their breathing loud and laboured. Yuuri felt like something else- some soft, creeping creature made entirely out of the buzz in his blood, the throb of his ass. He stared up at the ceiling and brushed his mouth, open and panting, over the top of Victor’s head. Because he could.

‘Yuuri,’ Victor whispered, kissing Yuuri’s throat. Yuuri’s arms were thrown up above his head in dead weight, but he flopped one down and around Victor’s shoulder, pulling him closer. If such a thing was possible. The wet of his own come was cooling unpleasantly on Yuuri’s stomach, but he couldn't bring himself to move. ‘That was- wow.’

Yuuri breathed out a laugh, smile broad and eyes closing. ‘That's all you have to say?’

‘I can't… I'm speechless,’ Victor replied, voice still hoarse and Yuuri felt his thudding heart grow light at hearing it.

‘Wow,’ Yuuri repeated, teasing. Victor chuckled softly into another kiss on Yuuri’s neck.

He wasn't sure how long they lay there, bodies growing cool under the sheen of sweat. The insides of Yuuri’s thighs were destroyed in lube, in Victor’s come but even Yuuri’s nagging thought that they should get clean wasn't enough to stir him from the comfort of Victor’s arms, the warmth of their sex. Victor shifted next to him and Yuuri opened his eyes.

‘What? What is it?’ Yuuri asked, still quite breathless as he caught Victor staring at him. Yuuri wondered if it was possible to fall in love with the way someone could look at you. The swoop of his abdomen as he met Victor’s eyes, soft and glittering, told him that if it wasn't love, it threatened to fall somewhere very close to it.

‘How old are you?’ Victor replied and for a moment, Yuuri didn’t say anything. Then, he laughed and it seemed to take them both by surprise. As Yuuri shook with the delirious giggles, Victor rolled over, touching Yuuri’s chest with one long finger. It bounced slightly with the tremors of Yuuri’s chest.

‘Is that what you're thinking about?’ Yuuri said through a laugh that trembled out of him, looking over to Victor, who was watching Yuuri right back. Yuuri licked his lips nervously. ‘Couldn't you just have looked it up?’

‘I’d prefer if you tell me. Yourself,’ Victor replied with only a small pause, eyes now dropping to where he was touching Yuuri’s chest. Like he knew that Yuuri was blushing and was saving him the embarrassment. Yuuri’s heart swelled with affection at the thought.

‘Um. I'm nineteen.’

‘What?!’

Victor looked up at him instantly, eyes wide and lips parted. He looked so surprised. Yuuri held firm for about two seconds before he threw an arm over his own face, mortification flooding through in one, hot flush.

‘Okay. That's not true. I'm twenty-three,’ Yuuri muttered from behind his arm. He felt more than heard Victor’s sigh of laughter, as then Victor started to shake next to him. Seemed the giggles were contagious. Yuuri tried to roll over so he wouldn't have to look at Victor anymore, but Victor draped himself over Yuuri more fully, keeping him pinned. Yuuri squirmed for a moment as their damp bodies came together, before relaxing under Victor’s weight. ‘Twenty-three. Sorry. I don't know why I said that.’

Yuuri did know. It was automatic. He told all his clients he was nineteen, and they all believed him. Or they liked the idea of it too much to question further.

Victor laughed out loud then. It was such a warm noise- like wood cracking under the weight of fire. Yuuri finally revealed himself as Victor leaned up to look at him properly. His cheeks were pink, rounded from where he was smiling. Yuuri swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

‘I'm relieved. I think I draw the line at nineteen,’ Victor said, reaching out and pushing hair back from Yuuri’s face. The touch pulled Yuuri’s heart into shapes. ‘Mila’s only nineteen, and she's just a kid. Anyone I'd consider a kid is definitely not someone I should be dating.’

Something snagged in Yuuri’s mind at the word _dating._

‘You're getting ahead of yourself,’ Yuuri said without thinking. Then, Victor took just a second too long to reply.

‘Oh. Right. Sorry.’

With that, Victor removed his hand from Yuuri’s face, carefully, almost like he was afraid to brush any other part of Yuuri on the way. He wasn't looking at Yuuri anymore. At some point, that had become unusual and Yuuri’s stomach twisted with unpleasant dread. Victor sat up, just out of Yuuri’s reach. Yuuri sat up immediately after, reaching out and touching Victor’s shoulder. Victor didn't look at him, instead staring out towards the window of the room.

‘No, no! I didn't mean-’ Yuuri struggled to find the words, but then Victor sighed. He looked back at Yuuri with a sad smile. Yuuri squeezed Victor where he was touching him. ‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean that.’

‘It's alright. I was making assumptions,’ Victor said plainly and Yuuri got onto his knees, leaning into Victor’s space, whimpering only a little from the movement. He took Victor’s face into his hands. They sat there, naked and staring. Yuuri moved his eyes across Victor’s face, taking in his pointed nose and sharp chin. His eyes, swirling colour.

‘Make assumptions,’ Yuuri whispered, blushing despite everything as the strength of his feelings for Victor rocked through him, rendering his voice weak. ‘I want you to. I'm sorry, I was just… surprised.’

Yuuri went to pull away, but Victor rose a hand to hold where one of Yuuri’s was on his cheek. The other touched Yuuri’s chest, palm up against the beat of Yuuri’s heart.

‘I've never had a boyfriend before,’ Yuuri confessed quietly. Victor frowned at him.

‘Never?’

Yuuri shook his head. ‘Never.’

Victor opened his legs, both hands now coming to Yuuri’s waist. He tugged Yuuri forward, who shuffled on his knees until he was right in Victor’s space. He moved his arms around Victor’s neck and Victor smiled up at him, uncertain and eyes cast down to Yuuri’s lips. Then Victor looked up, bright emotion in his eyes.

‘Then let me be your first,’ he said softly and Yuuri just couldn't not kiss him then. He kissed him slowly, taking his time to relearn the way Victor would breathe deep through his nose when they kissed. The quiet sigh Victor made between presses. Yuuri felt like he would burst with the happiness that was filling him. Victor and his kisses. Yuuri’s, for keeps.

At that, something crossed his mind; anxious thought crawling into Yuuri’s mind like they always did. He tried to ignore it, but something must've shown in the weight of his arms or the turn of his mouth, as Victor pulled away from him, silver eyebrows bunched together.

‘What is it?’ he asked and Yuuri tried to smile, shook his head.

‘It's nothing. Stupid.’

‘Yuuri.’

‘Really, it doesn't mat-’

‘Yuuri, please,’ Victor asked gently, squeezing his arms around Yuuri to reassure him. Yuuri did smile at that, but he worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he tried to think of a way to explain the doubt that niggled him. ‘Talk to me.’

‘It's just,’ Yuuri started, before tugging at his lip again. Victor said nothing, waiting patiently for Yuuri to find his footing. Yuuri shuffled in Victor’s arms, uncomfortable and embarrassed. It was hard to find the words. 

‘You're you, Victor,’ Yuuri said at last. ‘You've had- could have, anyone. Your pick of beautiful people.’ Victor was still silent, listening to Yuuri speak. Yuuri chewed on his lip again. ‘And for me, I’ve only ever had myself. Even my friends- well, _friend_. I make it so difficult.’  
  
Dating. A boyfriend. Like a real person. How would Yuuri even begin to relearn how to be a real person? Even the concept of it had him smiling with disbelief and nervousness, tenuous fear brimming beneath the fragile happiness.   

‘I’m so happy you want to be that for me. My first… everything. But I'm just afraid, and it's stupid I know it's stupid.’ Yuuri tried to laugh, a shrill awkward sound. He sobered himself, forcing himself to meet Victor’s eye. The fear knotted his stomach. ‘But, what if I'm not your last?’

Victor’s expression was many different things at once, emotion too fast for Yuuri to catch. But then Victor was kissing him again, running his tongue along where Yuuri had bitten himself and tightening his grip so Yuuri was almost back in his lap. Yuuri melted into it, heart stammering in his chest like it was losing its beat. He let Victor kiss him like that, sweet and tender. Let himself fall a little deeper into the well of affection Victor had made for himself in Yuuri’s heart.

‘Yuuri,’ Victor said, accent folding the name in half. The bend of a Choctaw. He kissed Yuuri again and Yuuri was sure he'd never stop losing his breath over his name being said in Victor’s voice like that. Victor pulled away, resting his forehead against Yuuri’s. ‘I already told you that I want to be part of your life.’

‘I know,’ Yuuri interrupted softly and Victor smiled at him.

‘Listen to me,’ Victor continued, tracing circles on Yuuri’s back. It wasn't as distracting as Yuuri thought it might be. ‘I'm yours, Yuuri. For as long as you'll have me. If this ends, it'll be because you want it to. Because I've already made up my mind.’

Sometimes, Yuuri missed skating so much it that it felt like more than an ache. It felt like some hollow, gaping wound that often tried to swallow him. Now, Yuuri felt it again as in that moment, Yuuri wanted nothing more than to skate as beautifully as what Victor had said made him feel. Yuuri wanted to trace the lines on the ice, wanted to whisper the words back in perfect echo through rotating, twirling weightlessness.

Instead, Yuuri just kissed him. Quick, off-centre and everything he'd ever wanted.

‘Me too,’ Yuuri said, honestly as he leaned back. Victor grinned at him and it was like all the lights in Moscow were shining just for the two of them.

‘You're gorgeous,’ Victor said, obviously delighted and Yuuri giggled nervously as Victor gave Yuuri a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek. ‘But you're also disgusting. We need to shower.’

Yuuri blushed awfully and he knew Victor was laughing at him. But as Victor peeled them apart, (they really were disgusting), Yuuri got to lace his fingers together with Victor’s, got to be led towards the bathroom. And as Victor checked the temperature of the shower, Yuuri watching the muscles on his back, Yuuri knew that he'd made the right decision.

When they eventually made it back to bed, (utterly ruined comforter discarded to the floor), Yuuri slotted himself into the space next to Victor like it was what he did every night. He indulged in everything, resting his head on Victor’s shoulder and holding Victor around the waist. Squeezed him, hugged him. All because he could. It was like something familiar, something beyond comfort and dazedly, Yuuri thought of the calls of _okaeri_ from home. For a long while, they sat in silence, Victor back to tracing circles on Yuuri’s shoulders.  
  
Yuuri didn't know exactly what made him say it. Maybe it was because he’d never been so comfortable, maybe it was so like that time Victor had been in his own bed back in Detroit. But before he could stop himself, Yuuri spoke into the dark of the room.  
  
‘I had a dog,’ Yuuri said, voice a little croaky as exhaustion tugged at him. Latent jet-lag, perhaps. ‘When I was younger. A poodle, like your Makkachin.’  
  
Victor said nothing, but Yuuri knew he was awake. In all their times together, Yuuri had somehow learned to tell. Yuuri kept his eyes closed, kept breathing the scent of the shower soap and clean linen. Kept himself buried against Victor in the safe cocoon of their bed.  
  
‘I have pictures. If you’d like to see,’ Yuuri said, opening his eyes. Looked up at the shadowed outline of Victor’s jaw. ‘I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want to! I know it’s late. I don’t even know why-’  
  
Victor kissed him at the top of the head.  
  
‘I’d love to.’

 

* * *

   
The morning passed in a strange blur of kisses, buttons done up wrong, (then done again), more kisses and Victor struggling to zip up his Russia jersey with one hand. Yuuri laughed at him, trying to pull his hand out of Victor’s grip. Not much good though, as Victor refused to let go.  
  
‘I’m not going to go anywhere,’ Yuuri teased, blushing when Victor grinned back at him. Victor gave a quick tug, pulling Yuuri forward so he had to look up at him. ‘You can let go of my hand for just a moment, you know?’  
  
‘I do,’ Victor replied, kissing Yuuri’s nose. Yuuri blushed, shrinking down into himself as he laughed. Would it always be like this? Yuuri wondered, hoped it would be, as Victor looked at him so softly. ‘But I don’t want to.’  

‘That’s not very practical,’ Yuuri said, trying to sound less giddy than he felt. It didn’t work but in the end, Yuuri did manage to disentangle himself from Victor, who pouted at him beautifully as he did so. Yuuri nodded to the gear bag at Victor’s feet, unable to stop fidgeting with the strings of the hoodie under his coat. (His plain, orange hoodie. One Phichit robbed in winter. Not a shred of silk, gossamer or satin). ‘You need to carry that as well.’  
  
‘First boyfriend lesson,’ Victor said, bending down to pick up the gear-bag and sling it over his shoulder in one fluid movement. ‘You always offer to carry the bags.’  
  
Yuuri knew he was blushing still, but he prided himself on managing to keep his smile steady. ‘Aren’t you a world champion? I’m sure you’re strong enough to carry your own bag.’  
  
‘So cruel, Yuuri!’ Victor whined, but once the bag was safely secured on his shoulder, Victor sought Yuuri’s hand out again. Yuuri gave it to him, smiling.  
  
Victor’s coach was waiting for them in the lobby when they arrived down. Yuuri shrank into himself as Yakov Feltsman’s stern gaze fell upon him; Victor no doubt sensing his unease as he squeezed Yuuri’s hand reassuringly when Yuuri tried to pull his hand away as if on instinct. Yuuri reached up for his surgical mask, replacing it over his face. He could feel Victor looking at him, but neither of them said anything.  
  
Yakov addressed Victor directly, ignoring Yuuri as if he wasn’t there. Not even a hello. Yuuri wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. He shuffled on his feet, glancing around the lobby of the Renaissance. Tried to focus on anything but the cold, foreign ringing of Russian in his ears. Yuuri knew that it was irrational to be so nervous still. Yuuri knew that he and Victor were fine. He _knew_ that. But the uneasiness still sat inside of him as Victor spoke in rapid Russian. Yuuri couldn’t even begin to tell if it was good Russian, bad Russian. Indifferent Russian?  
  
Victor could be reciting the entirety of _Breaking Bad_ for all the knowledge Yuuri had. He wondered idly as he watched a family check in by the desk if learning Russian would be a _boyfriend lesson._ Would Victor want to learn Japanese?  
  
_‘Oi!’_ _  
_ _  
_ Yuuri jumped back to himself as someone shouted across the lobby at them. He looked over, seeing the approaching Yuri Plisetsky coming in from outside, snow soaked and frowning already. Yuuri wondered if whoever raised Plisetsky had ever taught him to smile. Plisetsky shifted his own gear-bag, hood of his jersey falling down as he did so.  
  
‘You’re still here?’ Plisetsky snapped as he stepped up to them, green eyes fixed widely on Yuuri. He actually sounded surprised. Yuuri hoped his nervousness wouldn’t be too obvious from behind his mask. Yakov hissed something to Plisetsky, eyes narrowed. Yuuri looked between them, stomach churning.  
  
‘Um. Yes?’ Yuuri replied just as Victor sighed with humour.  
  
‘You always were a morning person, Yurio,’ Victor said and Plisetsky gritted his teeth. His eyes darted to where Victor was holding Yuuri’s hand and again, Yuuri felt the need to snatch it back and shove it in his pocket. Instead, Yuuri just held back. He was pretty sure that would be a _boyfriend lesson,_ too.  
  
‘You’re holding his hand? How old are you?’ Plisetsky fired at Victor and Yuuri sagged with relief for the attention to be focused elsewhere. Victor replied in easy Russian and Plisetsky snarled back. Yuuri tuned out again, comforted by the reassuring weight of Victor’s hand.  
  
‘At this rate they’ll need a translator if you’re going to neglect your English like this,’ Yakov said suddenly, causing Victor to laugh and Plisetsky to flush, which Yuuri was surprised by. He was as pale as Victor, so it showed terribly. Yuuri watched with sympathy- he knew what it was like to blush that easy.  
  
‘Whatever. They’re not even going to interview Victor anyway, seeing as I’m going to win,’ Plisetsky grumbled and Victor just laughed again. Yuuri was quite sure he could listen to Victor laugh forever.

‘Where’s Mila?’

‘How should I know? I'm not her babysitter.’

‘No? Isn't that what fifteen year olds do?’

‘I'll show you what they do, _govniuk-'_

Wherever Mila was, Yuuri never learned as she wasn't going to be joining them on their way to the rink. They shared a cab to the arena, Yuuri eternally grateful they didn’t get the shuttle bus that took most of the skaters. Victor knowing was one thing. (Admittedly; one massive, phenomenal thing). But facing the rest of the skating community? Yuuri shuddered to himself as they walked through the side entrance, blissfully free of press.  
  
Yuuri was a firm believer in _baby steps._ _  
_  
‘I’ll see you later,’ Yuuri said as they approached the foyer, knowing Victor would have to step off with the others. Victor turned to look at him. He reached out, grazing a finger over Yuuri’s mask.  
  
‘You could come in with me. You can sit by Yakov. I’d love to have you waiting for me in the kiss and cry,’ he said, stepping in close so that when he spoke, it was in low tones. Only for Yuuri. Yuuri looked up at him, blinking through his glasses.  
  
‘I can’t do that,’ he replied quietly, spying Yakov throwing them a glance over his shoulder. Yuuri’s chest felt tight, anxiety stewing just beneath the surface. Victor frowned at him.  
  
‘Why not?’  
  
‘You know why,’ Yuuri said perhaps too quickly, as Victor’s frown only deepened. Yuuri tried to smile, wondered if Victor could tell through the mask. He gave Victor’s hand a quick squeeze, leaning into Victor’s touch as he held Yuuri’s face in earnest now, cupping his cheek: the bands of the masks tickled beneath Victor's touch. ‘I’ll be cheering you on from the stands. Not that you need it; you’ll be amazing.’  
  
‘Where will you be sitting?’ Victor asked, Yakov suddenly calling him from behind. Victor sighed, tossing _da_ and something Yuuri didn’t know over his shoulder. ‘Can you try to sit near the kiss and cry?’  
  
‘Um, I guess?’ Yuuri said, unsure. Victor grinned and leaned forward, kissing Yuuri on the forehead. Yuuri squeaked in surprise, habit causing him to toss his gaze around. No one was looking at them, the staff of the rink distracted with their duties. ‘I’ll head there now, so I can get a seat.’  
  
‘Perfect,’ Victor said, giving Yuuri’s hand one more clutch. ‘I’ll be looking for you. Please watch carefully. I have a surprise for you.’ At that, he turned and left, Yuuri watching him join Yakov and Plisetsky. Watched as they turned the corner of a corridor, vanishing from sight.  
  
With remembered ease, Yuuri managed to make his way towards the corridors for the stands and avoid the gaggle of press that lurked just by them towards the foyer. He felt safe enough, as he did yesterday, in his mask and hat. But even as he walked by, Yuuri clutched at his coat tighter, pulled it up just a little bit above his chin. He was looking down at his own feet, which was probably why he walked straight into someone.  
  
‘Ah, sorry!’ Yuuri yelped, looking up to apologise further to the person he had bumped into. But his words died in his throat as he came face to face with Jean-Jacques Leroy. Trademark smile and all. Leroy grinned down at him, waving a hand gracefully. Yuuri made a small, strangled noise in the back of his throat.  
  
‘Don’t worry about it! Happens all the time,’ he said, smile broad as he ran a hand through his hair. Yuuri froze, stomach dropping somewhere cold and dark. His hands were in front of him, feet stuck on the floor.  
  
‘Uh.’  
  
‘I’m very distracting,’ Leroy teased and Yuuri blushed, panic igniting heat inside of him. He took an awkward step back as Leroy’s eyes landed on his face properly. He watched in horror as Leroy gave him a closer look, watched as he squinted his dark blue eyes. ‘Sorry, but... you look _really_ familiar.’  
  
‘Uh,’ Yuuri said again, quite afraid he was going to throw up. His heart hammered in his chest and he looked wildly around him, as though an exit might just open up before him.  
  
‘Wait,’ Leroy said quietly and Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, hands balling into fists. He could feel himself shaking and was unsure how to stop. Leroy swore under his breath and Yuuri peeked out at him, watched as Leroy took an unsteady step backwards. ‘Oh my god. You’re-’  
  
‘Yeah,’ Yuuri interrupted, drowning out Leroy’s breath of _Eros._ Yuuri tried not to panic. ‘I’m sorry. I need to go-’  
  
_‘What are you doing here?’_ Leroy hissed suddenly, startling Yuuri with the tone of his voice. Leroy reached out quickly, grabbing Yuuri by the arm and dragging him away, towards the wall. Yuuri was taken by surprise, didn’t fight back as Leroy pulled him quickly into a small alcove. Yuuri was suddenly very aware of how alone he was. He shoved a hand in his pocket, for his phone.  
  
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Yuuri replied, trying to keep his voice steady. Leroy frowned down at him, nervously glancing out of the side of his eye. Yuuri went to move; ‘Sorry, but I really have to-’  
  
‘You shouldn’t still be here. What are you doing?’ Leroy said, grabbing Yuuri again. Yuuri stared down at where Leroy was holding him, tried awkwardly to shrink out of his grip. Leroy’s face suddenly dropped, his stare becoming more intense. Yuuri wanted to look away, but found he couldn’t. Leroy let Yuuri go, standing up straight. He was almost as tall as- ‘Nikiforov. You’re here for him, right? He hired you.’  
  
‘No,’ Yuuri snapped, panicked. ‘It’s not like that!’  
  
‘But you are here with him, aren’t you? Why else would you be here? Chulanont isn’t competing,’ Leroy said, looking away and seemingly more talking to himself. Yuuri’s heart stopped.  
  
‘How do you know about Phichit?’ he asked, breathless as panic wrapped itself around his throat. Choking him. Leroy waved a hand, as if dismissing Yuuri.  
  
‘I thought you’d be gone,’ Leroy said distractedly and Yuuri pulled his hands into himself. Instinct told him to shrink, anxiety pulling at his corners until he folded into himself, though his mind was screaming to _run run run._  
  
‘How…’ Yuuri started quietly, trying to find his voice. Trying to ignore the way his eyes prickled. ‘How did you know I was here?’  
  
‘Never mind,’ Leroy snapped back, eyes wild. Yuuri jumped, backing further into the wall behind him. Leroy tossed a look over his shoulder. ‘I have to go. Look, just- you’re with Nikiforov, right?’  
  
Yuuri didn’t say anything, didn’t move. Leroy sighed manically, running a hand over his styled fringe.  
  
‘This never happened,’ Leroy said, giving Yuuri one last, quick look before he turned and vanished out into the crowd and Yuuri was left to stare after him, stare at the empty space he’d left behind. For a moment, Yuuri just stood there, drowning under the weight of his panic.  
  
Then it all broke. Yuuri doubled over, clutching at his own shoulders as his breathing burst out of him in unsteady, shuddering bursts. He scrambled with his mask, pulling it down around his face so he could breathe. Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure what just happened. Leroy knew he was here- _how?!_ Yuuri thought madly back, thought of his own actions. He knew Leroy was competing, had watched him do so just the day before. Had Leroy seen him? He must have. When? Yuuri had been so careful.  
  
Yuuri went to run his hands through his hair, forgetting his hat and pushing it from his head instead. He leaned back, bumping his head off the wall. His breathing was in short, rapid pants. Stomach heavy with nausea, hands shaking. Yuuri closed his eyes, tried to count backwards. Stuck his hands in his pockets, touched his phone. Traced the lines of it. Wondered, desperately, if he could call Phichit. He wanted to call Phichit.  
  
Instead, Yuuri went over the conversation again. Thought about it rationally. Leroy had called him Eros. So he still didn’t know who Yuuri was, not really. His identity was safe. Yuuri slowly started to get his breathing under control. Leroy had just been surprised, which was fair. Yuuri was surprised, too. But then… how did he know about Phichit?  
  
_Canada,_ Yuuri thought dazedly and he groaned aloud, remembering too late that they had met at Skate Canada. He remembered Phichit telling him. Remembered deliberately skirting around the topic. Phichit said they took a photo- knowing Phichit, he must’ve shown his Instagram. Yuuri was on that Instagram.  
  
_‘Phichit, kuso-,’_ Yuuri swore under his breath, though he knew it wasn’t Phichit’s fault. Yuuri had never told him. Yuuri had no one to blame but himself.  
  
But that had been close. Dangerously close. Yuuri was lucky Leroy was obviously of the mind of putting their meeting as far from his life as possible. Another client might not be. Yuuri had to reevaluate things. He thought of Robert’s call. If Robert had found his number so easily, then it would just be a matter of time before he found out about Phichit, too. Then all of this would come back to Phichit. Yuuri felt sick. He couldn’t let that happen.  
  
Bending down to pick up his hat, Yuuri replaced his mask and started to head back towards the stalls. He’d have to move, if he wanted to get a seat where Victor wanted him. There was nothing Yuuri could do about any of it now, not until he got back to the States. He’d have to talk to Phichit, they’d have to make a decision. Together. Yuuri would have to be honest again, which he was dreading. But things were spiralling now. Victor knew the truth. If Yuuri wasn’t careful, a whole manner of people could learn the truth, too.  
  
Yuuri knew he had a decision to make.  
  
He ambled his way through the throng of people, aiming for the seats down by the kiss and cry. They were popular, some part of him acknowledging that he was right to get there early. But Yuuri felt like he was dreaming; dazed, like he wasn’t really there as he wove his way through people, carefully stepping around those picking their seats. His panic felt separate now- like oil on water. The announcements went over his head, the thrum of the people like white noise.  
  
Yuuri took out his phone. He opened it. Then locked it. Then opened it again.  
  
Phichit always teased Yuuri about his phone. Asked why Yuuri would bother getting such a large drive for it when he had a grand total of ten apps. Most of which came with the phone. Yuuri opened his photos and scrolled through them. He had _a lot_ of photos. Screenshots from Phichit’s Instagram, pictures Yuuri had taken of Phichit when they went out together, from the side of the rink of Phichit skating. Phichit was so great on the ice. His confidence was everything Yuuri had ever wanted for himself, but better, because Phichit shared it with Yuuri like he did everything.  
  
Yuuri closed the photos and opened messages.  
  
**09:21AM** Hey. Are you watching the RC?  
  
It was just after two in the morning. Yuuri knew Phichit was probably asleep. Probably just going to check the results the in morning-  
  
Yuuri’s phone went off almost immediately.  
  
**09:21AM** _Of course! Everyone was talking about Victor’s step sequence in the sp. Like I was going to skip the free-skate after that! (*＾∀ﾟ)ъ_ _  
_ _  
_ Yuuri could've cried. He and Phichit texted back and forth through the beginnings of the competition, Phichit only taking too long to reply when he had to update his live-tweets of the event, _(If you just got a Twitter this would be much easier, you know!)._ Yuuri felt his worry ease, felt less dwarfed by the alienness of Moscow and the fear Leroy had inspired. Sitting in his seat by the kiss and cry, Yuuri almost felt like Phichit was there with him. Together, they commented on Plisetsky’s free-skate, ( I assure you. He’s even more aggressive in person). Pointed out times they felt the Italian representative could’ve done better, _(You know his sister is set for gold in the womens? Also, shes super hot!! Just saying~)._

 **12:34PM** _Victor next!! Going to cheer your boyfriend on?_  

Yuuri hesitated, fingers hovering. Watched Phichit’s little speech bubble rotate on the screen.  
  
**12:34PM** _Sorry, I don’t mean anything by calling him that._ _  
__  
_ Yuuri sighed in shame, knowing it was his fault Phichit would be so nervous. His reply came easier than he thought.  
  
**10:35AM** Actually, you may be closer than you think.  
  
**10:35AM** _(･口･)!!!!!_ _  
__  
_ Whatever else Phichit had to say, Yuuri ignored it as Victor skated out into the rink. The luminous lights of the stadium caught the shimmering pink gossamer of his costume, the brass buttons winking across the ice. Yuuri felt his heart speed up, felt his cheeks burn with affection as Victor spun in beautiful circles, waving gently before making it to the centre of the rink.  
  
The stadium fell silent as the opening bars of _Stammi Vicino_ flooded through the rink. Victor fell into his opening swoop to his knees with effortless beauty and Yuuri watched, leaning forward in his seat as Victor stretched his leg out into a striking counter, building momentum already for his first quad of the program.  
  
Yuuri watched Victor gain speed, watched the curve of his arms as they bent. Remembered the feeling of those arms curled around him, the move of Victor’s body against Yuuri’s own. Yuuri could see everything as Victor glided through his first quad in simple grace, could remember the sweat of Victor’s brow and the sting of his nails in Yuuri’s thighs. Yuuri bit his lip as Victor prepared for his quad flip; glittering, silver beauty across the ice.   
  
Yuuri remembered being twelve years old and watching Victor skate in the junior division. Yuuri remembered the costume, the step sequences. He remembered watching from the small, battered television Yuuko’s parents had moved to the rink, just for them to watch on. This felt like then- like Yuuri’s very soul was crawling beneath his skin, aching to follow the movements Victor carved out on the ice. Yuuri clutched onto his seat until his fingers went numb.  
  
Victor landed his quad as though he was weightless. Yuuri gasped anyway, impressed like he always, _always was._ Victor leant into a spin, arms and legs extended. Yuuri knew the stretch of such a spin and his legs ached with phantom memory.  
  
_I can do that,_ Yuuri thought as Victor spun and danced his way through his own step sequence. Yuuri watched, heart in his mouth as Victor executed his quads with startling precision. Yuuri had always wanted to be like that. Victor landed his last loop and Yuuri cried out with happiness, overwhelmed and tears formed as he let the emotion flood through him.  
  
Over the years, Victor had never ceased to surprise Yuuri. Ever since he’d first seen him skate. One surprise after another. And then after meeting him, Victor managed to change the perception Yuuri had of his life in ways Yuuri had never considered. Now, Yuuri saw that perception for how limited it was. As Victor used the momentum to carry himself into the final sequence, arms extended in silent invitation, Yuuri felt himself give over before he even knew what he was surrendering to.  
  
After the last combination spin, Yuuri almost cried out as he watched Victor counter it carefully, changing the final composition. Yuuri knew _Stay Close to Me_ backwards and forwards, he could see Victor change the direction before the announcer. But even so, Yuuri was still confused until Victor finished, legs still posed in careful separation. But his hands were not folded in on himself. Instead, Victor held them in gentle extension, both out across the ice.  
  
One hand out in one long line, finger pointed. Straight across the rink. Right at where Yuuri was sitting.  
  
The arena erupted into applause, screams. Russian announcements, official calls. But Yuuri ignored all of it.  
  
For years, Yuuri had skated for one single purpose. To meet Victor, to make it to his level. That dream had never seemed further away than the time Yuuri was physically closest to it. But now, Yuuri knew Victor past that. Knew he wore jeans that were just a little too long for him. Knew he spoiled his dog terribly, knew he would rather spend three times the money on a cab than get a bus. He knew that despite all the magazines claiming otherwise, Victor wasn’t very good at conversation. He spoke too much, never considered what he said either. He snored, he always let his food go cold because he talked too much over dinner. Victor got up at six, even at weekends, and used two kinds of shampoo.  
  
And Yuuri… Yuuri adored him.  
  
Yuuri stood up, awkwardly making his way across the people who sat along the row. They complained loudly as he stepped on their toes, fell halfway into their laps. But Yuuri didn’t care. He scrambled his way to the stairwell and started to make his way down it quickly, before his feet hit the ground and then he was running. Running as fast as he could down the corridor and around the corner towards the back of the kiss and cry.  
  
He kept running, side-stepping the press who were lurking past the barrier. He hopped it easily, barrelling down the corridor. Everyone was too busy to notice him, not that he cared if they did. He saw Victor coming out from the kiss and cry, Yakov at his shoulder and speaking to him.  
  
‘Victor!’ Yuuri cried out and Victor turned instantly, eyes beautiful and mouth open in Yuuri’s name. Victor opened his arms and Yuuri ran into them like he was always meant to.  
  
‘Yuuri!’ Victor said, holding Yuuri tightly and turning. He spun them slightly, lifting Yuuri just off the ground. They teetered for a moment. Victor still in his skates, but they both managed to stay upright. Yakov _tsked_ behind them, but they ignored him. Yuuri pulled his mask down, glasses crooked from the impact.  
  
‘Can we go somewhere?’ he asked, watching Victor’s eyebrows come together. Yuuri blushed. ‘Not- not like last time. I just, I’d like to speak to you.’  
  
Victor nodded, smiling. ‘Of course.’  
  
They went a little ways down the corridor, stepping around the corner towards an emergency exit. It was quiet there, no one around around. The opposite direction of where the competition was. Yuuri shuffled awkwardly on his feet, suddenly self-conscious. But Victor was looking at him so openly, reaching out to brush the hair from Yuuri’s face. Yuuri smiled and leaned into the touch.

Then, he gave himself over. 

  
‘I’ve watched you for years,’ Yuuri started, quietly and almost a whisper. Victor’s smile just grew wider. He stepped into Yuuri’s space, the brass buttons of his costume brushing against the fabric of Yuuri’s coat. Yuuri reached out, holding Victor’s waist. ‘You inspired me. Always. I didn’t start skating because of you, but you were what influenced me to do better, try harder.'  
  
‘You are a skater,’ Victor replied reverently, eyebrows raising and Yuuri felt a sharp stab of doubt.  
  
‘But- but you knew that!’ he squeaked and Victor laughed breathlessly, both hands cupping Yuuri’s face. Thumbs tracing circles on Yuuri’s cheeks.  
  
‘Yes. But this is the first time you’ve admitted it,’ Victor said through a soft laugh and Yuuri flushed, looking away. Victor nudged him gently and Yuuri looked back to see Victor was not angry. ‘I’m happy. I was wondering when you would tell me yourself.’  
  
‘I was afraid.’  
  
‘I hope you’re not anymore,’ Victor said, leaning forward and pressing a light kiss to Yuuri’s forehead. Yuuri leaned into it, sighing happily.  
  
‘No. I’m not,’ he said, pulling back so he could look at Victor again. ‘Victor, I’ve been in love with your skating for so long. Admired you, wishing I could know you. What you did out there… What you just showed me. To think you would ever consider me so highly.’  
  
Victor waited, fingers trembling slightly against Yuuri’s cheeks. Yuuri took a deep breath.  
  
‘I know you said I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to,’ he continued, never more certain despite the hammering of his heart. The shake of his body. He tightened his grip on Victor’s waist, bunched the soft fabric of the costume between his fingers. He thought of home. Of the Detroit traffic, of Robert. Of Leroy. Thought of the life waiting for him there. ‘But watching you skate today reminded me just how much skating meant to me. How much you mean to me.’  
  
Yuuri looked into Victor’s eyes, wondering if he could ever thank Victor enough for what he had been given.  
  
‘I know what I want,’ Yuuri said. Victor waited, but when Yuuri said nothing else, he moved and pressed himself into Yuuri’s body. He was taller in his skates, but Yuuri leaned up to meet him. He let Victor kiss him softly, let his mouth open for Victor to fall against him easier.  
  
He wasn’t sure how, but soon Yuuri was pressed up against the wall, Victor flush against him. His arms were tight around Victor’s neck now, using it as leverage to reach up and kiss Victor better. Victor’s hands were around his waist, tight like a belt. Yuuri didn’t know if the flutter in his stomach when they were together, the lightness of his heart, would ever give way. Happiness was addictive in a way nothing ever had been before.  
  
‘Come back to me,’ Victor breathed against Yuuri’s mouth, blue eyes closed. He kissed Yuuri again before pulling away, forehead resting on Yuuri’s. ‘Come back to skating with me.’  
  
‘Victor…’ Yuuri replied, unsure what else to say.  
  
‘I think,’ Victor started, before he stopped. He laughed again, licking his lips. ‘I think I’m falling in love with you, Yuuri.’  
  
Yuuri gasped, fingers almost bruising on Victor’s neck. Victor opened his eyes. Even through his glasses, Victor was blurry to Yuuri so close.  
  
‘Skate with me. I can teach you, coach you!’ Victor continued, words tripping over themselves as they rushed out of Victor in one, hurried breath. Yuuri gaped at him, stunned. ‘Quit Eros. You don’t need it. I can help you.’  
  
Yuuri blinked up at him, heart feeling too big for his chest. Beating in staccato to the shock of Victor telling him that he was in love with him. Yuuri was half-sure he must be dreaming.  
  
‘Victor, I-’  
  
_‘Victor!’_  
  
They both jumped apart in shock as Yakov Feltsman came around the corner. Yuuri snatched his hands down to his own sides, still so shocked to really feel embarrassed. Yakov snapped something in Russian and Victor replied irritably. Yakov threw a hand in the air before storming away again. Victor sighed, looking at Yuuri again.  
  
‘I have to go.’  
  
‘Okay,’ Yuuri said. Victor bit his lip, hands resting on his own hips. ‘I’ll wait for you at the hotel.’  
  
‘You won’t stay?’ Victor asked, sounding worried. Yuuri smiled, stepping forward. He reached out and took Victor’s hand in his own.  
  
‘I think I need to sort some things out,’ he said honestly. He squeezed Victor’s hand. Looked at the colours of their skin, linked together. ‘But I am not leaving you. I promise.’  
  
Victor physically shrank, tense shoulders dropping. He kissed Yuuri on the cheek.  
  
‘Then I’ll see you soon.’  
  
Yuuri smiled up at him, wondering if love was as close to him as it was to Victor. The trembling pound of his heart told Yuuri he may have already fallen right into it, without ever realising. Yuuri couldn't think of a more perfect accident. 

 

* * *

  
‘You could stay.’  
  
‘I can’t stay, Victor!’ Yuuri laughed as Victor pouted at him. They were in Sheremetyevo, Victor carrying Yuuri’s bag despite all protests as they exited the cab. Yuuri paid the driver, sliding out of his side of the car as Victor hovered on the curb. ‘And you can’t stay here. You’ll need to leave for your train back to Saint Petersburg soon.’  
  
‘I’d much rather wait with you for your flight,’ Victor said as Yuuri came around to meet him on the sidewalk. Yuuri smile up at him, watching the snow catch itself in the silver strands of Victor’s hair. Victor was all glamour, even for travel. Typical really. Elegant black coat and long grey scarf. Yuuri tugged the end of it affectionately.  
  
‘That makes no sense.’  
  
‘It makes perfect sense.’  
  
‘Hmm,’ was all Yuuri got before Victor was kissing him again.  
  
Victor had skipped the Rostelecom Cup celebrations the night before, instead spending the evening with Yuuri. He brought Yuuri to another restaurant. Quiet and less up-market. They spent the evening talking about everything and nothing. They discussed Yuuri’s skating, Victor explaining where he felt Yuuri was failing in it. Yuuri let himself be carried through the conversation, let Victor guide him through the glittering streets of Moscow before they retreated back to their hotel room.  
  
Victor didn’t push Yuuri for an answer to his request that Yuuri quit escorting and Yuuri didn’t offer one. As they crawled into bed the night before, pyjama’d and comfortable, Yuuri instead asked Victor if he would bring him to the airport in the morning. Victor had told him quite ardently that it had never crossed his mind to do anything else. The pyjamas hadn’t lasted very long after that.  
  
‘No, no. Stop,’ Yuuri said, pulling away and trying to sound stern. ‘You are not missing your train because of me.’  
  
‘It would be well worth it,’ Victor said and Yuuri huffed at him.  
  
‘Your coach hates me enough, I think.’  
  
‘He doesn’t hate you.’  
  
‘He’s not keen,’ Yuuri said, carefully taking his bag from Victor. He adjusted it around the strap of his satchel that he was already wearing. Victor shook his head, smiling.  
  
‘Yakov is just cranky. I promise you, he’s fine once you get to know him,’ Victor said and Yuuri just nodded, completely not believing that. Victor looked at Yuuri with an imploring glance. ‘I could walk you to departures.’  
  
‘Victor, I’m a grown man,’ Yuuri laughed. ‘I can walk myself. I’d never have asked you to bring me if I’d known your train was in an hour!’  
  
Victor just shrugged to that, stepping up to Yuuri and wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s waist. The strap of Yuuri’s satchel fell. The snow was clogging Yuuri’s glasses now, but he couldn’t find it in himself to move yet. He watched Victor through the droplets.  
  
‘If you’re not comfortable with it, you can just say,’ Victor said at last and Yuuri frowned at him, confused. Victor kept going, seemingly steeling himself. ‘But I’d really like it if you came to Barcelona with me.’  
  
Yuuri swallowed thickly, gently stepping out of Victor’s grip. Victor let him go easily, putting his hands in his pockets once free of Yuuri. Yuuri awkwardly adjusted the bags on his shoulder. ‘I can’t do that, I’m afraid.’  
  
‘Right. Of course, I just thought-’  
  
‘Because I’ll already be going with Phichit,’ Yuuri continued, interrupting Victor’s babbling. Victor opened his mouth, then closed it again. Yuuri grinned, wondering if surprising Victor would always give him that rush of warm, electric affection. ‘He'd never forgive me if I abandoned him. Even for Victor Nikiforov. But if you like, we can meet up there.’ Victor blinked at him and Yuuri blushed, suddenly self-conscious. He waved his hands in front of him. ‘Not an appointment! Or even a date- unless you _want_ it to be a date! I’d love a date. Not that you have to, but-’  
  
Victor silenced his panic with a kiss. Yuuri relaxed, relief overwhelming.  
  
‘I’d love to,’ Victor said, before wrapping his arms around Yuuri and giving him a tight hug. He pulled back, but kept his hands lingering on Yuuri’s shoulders. ‘Does this mean-?’  
  
Victor licked his lips and Yuuri waited, unsure what to say.  
  
‘Does this mean you’re considering what I asked you?’ Victor said at last, snow swirling around him. Yuuri bit his lip, having known his chances of leaving before giving Victor an answer were slim. But still, when faced with it, Yuuri felt the nervousness tug inside him like a pulled muscle.  
  
‘All I know right now, is that you make me happy,’ Yuuri said truthfully, reaching up to take one of Victor’s hands. ‘More than that, you make me feel like a stronger person. More who I thought I would be.’  
  
Victor looked so hopeful that Yuuri felt dwarfed by the power Victor was giving him. Heart too small to hold the feeling Yuuri had.   
  
‘I’d like to explore who I could be with you,’ Yuuri said at last, tracing the back of Victor’s knuckles with his fingertips. He met Victor’s eye. ‘I hope that’s alright.’  
  
‘It’s more than that,’ Victor grinned back, hopping on his feet to kiss Yuuri on the cheek. Yuuri laughed, giddy with happiness, nerves and perhaps something else altogether.  
  
‘Okay, okay!’ Yuuri stammered through laughs as Victor kept kissing his face. He eventually managed to wrangle Victor off him and into another taxi, promising to call him once he was safely through departures. And again once he got back to Detroit. Checking in- another _boyfriend lesson._ Yuuri waved after the cab, feeling so light he might float away. Then, he turned and made his way into the airport.  
  
He’d barely made through the foyer before his phone started ringing. Yuuri chuckled to himself, unsurprised that Victor wouldn’t be able to wait. He pulled his personal phone of his pocket before frowning, realising too late that it was the ringtone of his professional phone coming from the pocket of his satchel. He struggled slightly to fish it out without dropping his careful balance of satchel and gear-bag.  
  
‘Hello?’ Yuuri said, fumbling to put his personal phone back in his coat pocket.

‘Yuuri Katsuki,’ a voice replied, Russian and stern. Yuuri froze. His hand shook as the shock rocked through him.

‘Who- _who is this?’_ Yuuri stammered quietly, fear ice cold in his stomach. He thought distantly of the stranger from the bar the other night.

‘Are you only capable of recognising one Russian at a time?’ the voice on the phone continued, gruff and anger evident in their tone. Yuuri turned on his feet, madly, looking around him. Looking for Victor. ‘This is Yakov Feltsman.’

Yuuri choked, panic ablaze inside of him. Short, aborted breaths. Heart pounding. He was going to be sick. A woman next to him reached out, questioning him in incomprehensible language but Yuuri waved her off manically, stepping backwards until he hit a bench. People startled around him. He couldn't breathe. _He couldn't breathe._

‘Do you remember me?’ Yakov snapped down the phone and Yuuri nodded mutely, before swallowing around the fear in his mouth.

‘Yes,’ he whispered, strangled with panic. Yakov made a noise on the other end of the phone. A growl, like a dog. Yuuri reached back and held onto the bench for balance. Stared at his knuckles going pale. ‘How… How did you get this number?’  
  
‘You mean _Eros’_ number?’ Yakov fired back down the line and Yuuri whimpered, unable to stop it. ‘I think you and I need to have a talk.’  
  
‘Ah,’ Yuuri choked, wordless and terrified.  
  
‘The coffee station at the other end of the airport should be fine, _da?’_  
  
Yuuri said nothing, letting his bags fall to the floor with a loud _whump._ He rocked back on his feet, listening to Yakov repeat the request down the phone, with even more hostility. Yuuri flinched.  
  
‘Yes. Yes, I’m coming.’  
  
Even after Yakov hung up, Yuuri stood where he was. He swayed on his feet, almost bending over as his stomach twisted so unpleasantly. The woman from before hovered near him, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Yuuri started, babbling apologies to her in English as he suddenly came crashing back to himself. He bent down, gathering up his bags and started briskly off in the direction of the food court.

When Yuuri made it to the largest coffee station and didn't see Yakov immediately, Yuuri wondered if perhaps he'd hallucinated the whole thing. But that dream was shot down when a voice said his name from behind. 

'Katsuki.' 

Yuuri turned slowly, breathing turning short. Lungs constricting over stuttered air that was pushed out in fear as he met Yakov's gaze. It was polar and sharp, the edge of something as he regarded Yuuri from beneath his wide rimmed hat. There was still snow caught in his dark, wool coat.

'Let's take a seat.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't quit my job to write fanfic, but I'm ngl, I am excited about having time to myself to write it.


	13. Pressure Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yuuri's weakness is exposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CONTENT WARNING:** Possible triggers in this chapter. Allusions and discussion of stalking and assault. No explicit, descriptive or graphic scenes.

* * *

_  
48 Hours Earlier...  
  
_

* * *

  
Yuri was going to kill Victor.  
  
Or at least hit him very hard. Yuri tugged his jersey tighter around himself, cooling down now after his initial warm up off-rink. But his frustration with Victor was doing a bang up job of fixing that problem. Who bails out before the scores are announced? Who _gets away_ with bailing out before the mid-way scores are announced? Yuri huffed to himself, eternally angry that Victor was skirting the rules. And Yuri was being sent off to clean up after him- again.  
  
Yakov let Victor get away with murder. It was only fair for Yuri to get away with it, too… Even if the murder victim would be everyone’s favourite asshole.  
  
‘Stupid Victor,’ Yuri mumbled to himself, not for the first time during the Rostelecom Cup. Or that day, even.  
  
Victor was always pretty annoying, even when Yuri was admiring him as during those times, Victor exuded a smugness that apparently only Yuri could see, but would swear was there. But since Victor’s boyfriend had shown up- _his freaking boyfriend-,_ Victor had transcended his usual standard of being a complete and utter idiot to a _complete and utter idiot in love._ Which was somehow, even worse.  
  
Yuri tried not to be bothered by it. Really, he did. It wasn’t like he cared that Victor had finally found someone who was willing to put up with his insanity, (because as crazy as Victor was when Yuri saw him, he was sure Victor managed to be even worse off-ice), but ever since this thing got started Victor had been even more air-headed than usual. Right when Yuri needed him most. And really, wasn’t that the most _Victor_ thing to do?  
  
Yuri was not scared about the season. He was just a bit nervous, that’s all. It was his first time in the senior division and despite his win at the Cup of China, he was still uneasy about going forward. Not that he was going to admit as such to Yakov. Victor said _Agape_ , his short-program, was still not right. Still not perfect. And no matter how often Yuri tried to ask Victor about it, about what he was getting wrong, he never seemed to catch Victor at a good time. He was always _just leaving_ or on the phone, with the boyfriend. Or in fucking Detroit.  
  
(Detroit, for fuck’s sake).  
  
Now it was Yuri’s last chance to definitively qualify for the Grand Prix and Victor was still nowhere to be seen.  
  
Yuri took his phone out, checking the time. He was still good. Not like he wanted to watch the other qualifiers anyway. Victor was his greatest competition at this and he’d already gone. Yuri was determined to beat his score, but he bit his lip as he thought about it anyway. Not nervously. Just… He was just thinking about it. Yakov said he was more than capable. Mila said he was cute to even try. And Victor? Victor had said nothing.  
  
Victor was forgetful at best, but now he had a willing distraction. Yuri blew a strand of hair out of his face, trying not to teeter too much in his skates as he walked down the hall behind the kiss and cry. Knowing Victor, he had probably run off to check on his brand new boyfriend. Yuri hadn’t seen Victor this excited about something in… well, maybe ever in the two years Yuri had known him. It was distracting. Or disturbing.  
  
It was definitely one of them, if not both.  
  
Yuri turned the corner and looked around the hall, glaring down at the empty space behind the temporary barriers for the press. It was the only access point without security. He had been sure that’s where Victor would’ve been, mooning over his latest toy. But it was empty, someone even leaving their coat behind them on the ground. Yuri frowned down at it like Victor might somehow materialise in order to be glared at instead of it. Yuri was willing to find Victor when he thought he knew where he was, but he was not Victor’s handler. That was Yakov’s job.  
  
The sound of voices distracted Yuri enough to look away, watching as two women came around from the end of the hall. He recognised their press badges immediately. Typical.  
  
_‘Oi!’_ Yuri barked, causing both of the women to jump. Their eyes widened as they spotted Yuri, hands already scrambling in their coat pockets. For their phones, no doubt. Journalists were insatiable. ‘You’re not allowed past the barrier!’  
  
‘You’re Yuri Plisetsky!’ one of the women said, accent Slavic but nothing Yuri recognised. Yuri bared his teeth, completely uncaring. ‘Are you nervous for your short program? Victor’s performance was really something-’  
  
‘Piss off!’ Yuri snapped, throwing a hand out so he was pointing his phone towards the barrier. ‘And get back behind the barrier before I call security.’  
  
The women paused, seemingly going through their options. Yuri wondered how much trouble he’d get into if he threw his skate-guards at them. Eventually, they slipped their phones back into their pockets and went to pass back under the barrier, eyes down. Yuri waited for them to vanish down around the hall, before shrugging his shoulders and turning on the edge of his skates to head back to the kiss and cry. It was only two to go before he had to go out himself. If Victor didn't care for the mid-way score rankings, then that was his problem.

Yuri gave the abandoned coat on the ground another glare, (just for good measure, because who does that?), before he he started making his way back towards the kiss and cry. He was just coming up on the corner when his day actually managed to get worse.

‘Love you, too!’ JJ-ice for brains-Leroy said, merrily hanging up his phone with a flourish that was completely unnecessary. He was leaning against the wall, just at the corner and smiling that stupid smile Yuri was sick of seeing on the forums. In his obnoxious red kit as well. (At least Victor’s was Olympic). He'd clearly come out for the quiet to take his call, but Yuri was taking it as personal insult that he chose the same stupid hallway Yuri was in.

Yuri rolled his eyes, questioning god and whoever the fuck else might've been responsible for JJ to end up where he was, but apparently they weren’t listening as when JJ put his phone in his pocket, he caught Yuri’s eye. Yuri bared his teeth, clutching his phone tightly in his hand.  
  
‘It’s you!’ JJ said, voice booming and Yuri winced. ‘Russia’s Fairy!’  
  
‘Shut your mouth,’ Yuri retorted, sticking his phone back in his pocket. JJ tilted his head, white teeth flashing. He was tall. Not Victor tall, but he was making a good attempt by the way he was puffing out of his chest. He stuck a hand in his pocket, looking down at Yuri with obvious amusement.  
  
‘That’s not very polite,’ JJ sneered, bobbing a pointed finger at Yuri’s face. ‘Tinkerbell is definitely going to ground you for that kind of language. Might not let you back into Neverland.’  
  
‘I’ll show you Neverland,’ Yuri snarled, narrowing his eyes up at JJ’s stupid square face. ‘What are you even doing back here? Running scared already?’  
  
‘From you, little fairy? Nah, I think I’m good,’ JJ teased and Yuri’s blood boiled. He gritted his teeth, trying to stand up a little taller. But it was hard not to feel self-conscious anyway. He was suddenly hyper aware of the silver sequins and soft feathers of his short-program costume under his jersey. He resisted the urge to zip it shut over himself. JJ’s surely wasn’t that much better under his kit.  
  
‘Fuck off, shithead,’ Yuri snapped, digging his hands into the pockets of his jersey so he wouldn’t lash out. And punch that stupid smile off JJ’s face. JJ laughed, completely unperturbed by Yuri’s grousing. ‘What are you even laughing for? Victor’s the one leading the way, you’re not even close to catching up.’  
  
‘Are you?’ JJ replied and Yuri flushed, hating how he knew it was showing because it always fucking showed. JJ grinned down at him and Yuri felt himself get even hotter. He took a deep breath through his nose, trying to cool himself down.  
  
‘I’m going to clean the ice with both you and Victor,’ Yuri said, doing his best to show he believed it. He tried to push his doubts about _Agape_ down, down beneath the guards of his skates. Like he could stand on them and make them smaller. ‘You’re not even going to see me from so far below the podium.’  
  
‘It’s cute, you know,’ JJ said, nodding his head so his hideous bangs bounced. ‘Skating around to the routine Victor made for you, like a good little protegé. Do you really think he’s going to let you go ahead and beat him with it?’  
  
Yuri felt something twinge inside of him. He knew himself there was no way JJ knew that that very thought was one Yuri had in his darkest moments, when he spent too long scrolling through Victor’s Instagram. Staring at the aesthetic photos of Victor’s medals, his training. Yuri pursed his lips shut. He certainly wasn’t going to let any of that show now. But it still hurt, it still sat his stomach like a heavy weight.  
  
Victor had been stupid to switch his step sequence, but it actually managed to swing the judges even more into his favour. Because _of course._ Victor had been steadily returning to form since Worlds. Yuri wasn’t afraid of him. Yuri was confident he could beat Victor, he _would_ beat Victor. But the tool he had been given to do it had been gifted from Victor himself. And despite everything, it still rubbed Yuri the wrong way. It was like a debt. And Yuri may not have been afraid of losing to Victor, exactly. But he was afraid if Victor ever decided to call in on that debt.  
  
_It'd be a winning program if I skated it,_ Victor had told Yuri when he first choreographed  _Agape._ Yuri refused to let that be true.  
  
‘Listen here, _bliad’_ ,’ Yuri said with as much bite as he could manage, throwing the Russian in out of spite. He tossed his hair, getting it out of his eye and stared up at JJ. ‘Don’t go trying to get into my head. Your opinion doesn’t mean shit to me. You may call yourself the King, but I’m not one of those simpering princesses you have fawning all over you.’  
  
‘Look like one though,’ JJ shot back and Yuri growled as insult hit him hard.    
  
‘You fucking-’  
  
Yuri didn’t get that far, as both he and JJ were interrupted by the sound of people coming around down the hall. Voices and possibly laughing. Yuri tipped his head back in frustration.  
  
‘God, journalists,’ he hissed, turning to go and give those women another earful to trying for get back in. He sure as hell wasn’t going to get caught talking to JJ Leroy of all people. But the words died instantly once he turned around to see Victor and his freaking boyfriend. Victor was pawing at Katsuki, his arms, his waist. Katsuki was carefully sidestepping, face red. Yuri watched as he bent down, picking up the coat Yuri had seen on the floor earlier. Yuri’s mouth fell open as realisation hit.  
  
Oh, for god’s sake...

They were down at the very end of the hall and Yuri knew _exactly_ what they had been up to. He was not stupid and Katsuki looked a mess. Crooked jumper, hair sticking up and Yuri could see even from the end of the hall that Victor’s costume was not buttoned along the seam correctly. Even one of the legs of Katsuki’s jeans wasn’t tucked over his boot. Yuri made a face to himself, aborting his dramatic gag as he didn’t want JJ to catch on. Because even if Victor was an embarrassment- he was Team Russia’s embarrassment.  
  
‘What you looking at?’ JJ said and Yuri turned to look at him, frowning.  
  
‘Nothing, forget it,’ Yuri said but JJ was already moving, gently skirting around Yuri until he was staring down the corridor. He was already talking about smiling for the cameras when Yuri reached out to try and stop him, but it was too late. JJ’s face went pale. Yuri got some satisfaction at that. Victor’s disturbing habits were good for something, turned out.  
  
‘Holy fucking shit,’ JJ whispered and Yuri gaped at him, shocked at hearing the language from the precious King JJ of all people. ‘It’s Eros.’  
  
Yuri paused in his retort, confused. He looked down at where Victor and Katsuki were fidgeting, utterly absorbed with each other still. He glanced over at JJ, who was still wearing that stupid shocked look on his face. Yuri looked down at Victor again, draped in his black and red chiffon. ‘What? Yeah, of course it is. What else did you expect him to be wearing? He just got off the ice.’  
  
‘No, I mean…’ JJ started, voice trailing away. His mouth opened and closed for a few moments and Yuri shifted in his skates. JJ was muttering now, English hushed. Yuri strained to hear him. _‘What is he doing here? He shouldn’t be here...’_  
  
‘Who?’ Yuri asked and JJ jumped, staring down at Yuri with his blue eyes wide. Like he had forgotten Yuri was there altogether. Yuri looked down at Victor and Katsuki again, watched as Katsuki pushed the hair from Victor’s face. He side-eyed JJ. ‘Do you know that guy?’  
  
‘What?’ JJ said, obviously not listening as his gaze roamed over Yuri’s head and back down towards Victor and Katsuki again. ‘No. Not really.’  
  
‘Not really?’ Yuri repeated and JJ suddenly jumped back, swinging around Yuri’s back and off towards the kiss and cry again. Yuri spun on the edges of his skates, trying to catch JJ. ‘Hey! I’m asking you something!’  
  
‘Sorry, guy,’ JJ said, shrugging off Yuri’s hand before it reached his shoulder. Yuri frowned, scenting blood. ‘But I think I should head back-’  
  
‘Do you know Katsuki?’ Yuri asked, JJ being the one to look confused now. He gaped a bit longer, Yuri’s patience wearing through. ‘Oi, I’m talking to you!’  
  
‘Who? Yuuri?’ JJ asked and it was Yuri’s turn to gape wordlessly now. Despite half-expecting to hear it, he was still taken aback at JJ knowing Katsuki’s name. He gestured back down the corridor, down where Victor and Katsuki still were. JJ followed the line of Yuri’s hand, eyebrows vanishing into his styled bangs. ‘Oh… No, I don’t know him. Not... no.’  
  
‘You just said you did,’ Yuri chanced, hoping he sounded tougher than he was feeling. Something wasn’t right and Yuri could feel it in his gut. Yuri had never been wrong about these things before. He knew it about Mila’s ex-boyfriend, and he knew it now.  
  
‘What? No, I didn’t,’ JJ stammered but Yuri stepped forward, glad of the height his skates gave him. He walked forward until JJ was back against the wall, eyes darting. He reminded Yuri vividly of Katsuki from the night before. It made Yuri nervous, made him twist his hands into fists. He directed one in JJ’s direction. JJ glanced at it, then back to Yuri again. He smiled, but it didn’t stick. ‘He- he just looks like someone I know.’  
  
‘How did you know he was called Yuuri then?’ Yuri said, not buying any of it for a moment. JJ winced, closing his eyes tightly and gritting his teeth. Yuri smiled back in satisfaction, knowing he was right. ‘Spill it, Leroy.’  
  
‘I don’t want any trouble,’ JJ said, eyes opening and that gave Yuri pause. The heavy feeling in his stomach got worse. He thought of Katsuki in the hotel the other day- his jumpy attitude, his two phones. The two phones. It was that part that circled back in Yuri’s head no matter what. He’d only seen such a thing in television and never for anything good.  
  
‘What kind of trouble do you think you’re in?’ Yuri asked, but he already suspected. He knew JJ was engaged. But Yuri also knew that Mila’s ex was apparently _a nice guy._ JJ avoided his eye, shrugged like he was trying to someone slink out of Yuri’s presence. Well, Yuri wasn’t going to let him. JJ knew something. And whatever it was, it had do with Katsuki. Katsuki was dating Victor. That made it officially Yuri’s business. ‘Tell me, JJ.’  
  
Nothing. Just more fidgeting. Yuri shook his fist, puffed up his chest.  
  
‘Tell me now.’  
  
‘Okay, okay!’ JJ exclaimed, holding his hands up in surrender. Yuri stared at them. The pale skin of his palms versus the soft tan of his wrists. Contrasting colours, like everything JJ did. ‘We met in Detroit, that’s all. I just didn’t expect to see him out here in Moscow.’  
  
‘He’s Victor’s boyfriend, why is that so strange?’ Yuri asked, very confused now but there was something just outside of his thoughts. Blurred at the edge, but shrouded in suspicion. Yuri was afraid of it, but he was also pretty certain he was right. (Wouldn’t be the first time). He raised an eyebrow, sneering up at JJ; ‘Unless he didn’t tell you that when you met him.’  
  
‘Victor’s dating Eros?!’ JJ gave Yuri a wild look, eyes wide with panic and cheeks still drained of colour. Yuri leaned back though, confusion interrupting his focus on getting confirmation. JJ seemed to catch up with what he had said, running a hand over his face. He tugged at his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Never mind. It doesn’t matter.’  
  
‘Are you- are you calling Yuuri _Eros?’_ Yuri asked slowly, not entirely sure he was following at all anymore. ‘Did he… did he tell you that was his name? That’s insane-’  
  
‘I’m not talking about this,’ JJ suddenly snapped, voice clipped and Yuri jumped at his tone, interrupted. Yuri was supposed to be the one on the offensive here. But now JJ was standing up tall, adjusting his jersey and turning back towards the kiss and cry. ‘I’ll see you later, punk.’  
  
‘Hey!’ Yuri called, reaching out for JJ but being shrugged off with a sharp tug. He waved after JJ’s retreating back. ‘You can’t just piss off!’  
  
‘You want to know about it, ask Nikiforov!’ JJ threw back before he was too far gone for Yuri to be bothered yelling after him. Yuri stood in the hall, one foot around the corner and the other not, stewing in the confusion of what had just happened.  
  
What the fuck?  
  
Yuri stood still, staring off as JJ vanished out back towards the rink. He went over everything that just happened, somehow more confused than when he had started. So JJ knew Yuuri. Yuri had his suspicions about that, none of them good. But that was kind of thrown for a loop when JJ called Katsuki _Eros._ What kind of bizarre situation was that? Who lies about their name? Maybe Katsuki was just more of a stalker than Yuri gave him credit for. Victor has had weirder fans.

  
But something wasn’t right. None of what happened felt normal. And that was saying something, because going by what Yuri knew of JJ Leroy, he wasn’t that normal to begin with.  
  
(Who writes a song about themselves, after all?)  
  
Yuri jumped when a large hand came down on his shoulder. He stepped out of the grip, turning around to a flushed Victor was had somehow appeared behind him. Victor looked at Yuri with curiosity, blue eyes glimmering under the fluorescents.  
  
‘Yuri, what are you doing back here?’ Victor asked, his English sounding so natural in his mouth. Years and years of practice. Yuri only chewed on his words for a moment, shoving the self-consciousness down.  
  
‘Looking for you, _starik,’_ Yuri grumbled, shoving Victor for good measure. Victor beamed down at him, completely unperturbed as he straightened himself back up. He ran a hand through his hair, silver catching the light. Yuri rolled his eyes. ‘Done with your boyfriend?’  
  
‘What?’ Victor said, sounding genuinely surprised. ‘My- oh. You mean Yuuri?’  
  
‘No. I mean your other pain in the ass American boy-toy,’ Yuri said, not even bothering to hide his frustration. Victor looked at him, offence obvious over all his stupidly sharp features. Mouth in a small _oh_ of totally deserved insult.  
  
‘Yuri! How could you say such-’  
  
‘Your belt is crooked,’ Yuri said blankly, poking Victor in the small space where some of the white skin of his torso showed. Small pucker of fabric between the shirt and clip of the trousers. Victor yelped at Yuri’s cold finger, which did give some satisfaction, Yuri wasn’t going to lie. There was something pleasing in making Victor squeal like a little girl.  
  
Victor was blushing, hands scrambling to right himself and Yuri made sure to be as vocal about his disapproval as possible, complete with dramatic whines and eye rolls.  
  
‘You’re actually embarrassing. More embarrassing than Georgi.’  
  
‘Oh now, that’s just low,’ Victor replied breezily, tossing his fringe as he finally straightened up in a moderate fashion. He held his arms for Yuri to survey him, which Yuri did. Begrudgingly, mind.  
  
In all the distraction that basically was Victor Nikiforov in a nutshell, Yuri quite forgot to ask him about JJ. After all, he had his own skate to worry about which shoved Katsuki and his probable sluttiness down on Yuri’s list of priorities.

* * *

  
Victor was still in the lead. But Yuri was not far off beating him, which he fully intended to do.  
  
But for now, Yuri was… Well, he wasn’t _sulking._ Not matter what Mila said, Yuri definitely wasn’t sulking. He just wasn’t in the mood to go play friends with Mila and whatever sad sacks she happened to rope into coming with her out into Moscow for the night. Yuri decided to stay in the hotel, even putting off dinner with Dedushka so to focus on the competition tomorrow. (He’d understood, he always did). After Yakov had forbidden any more run-throughs though, Yuri banished himself to his bedroom and poured over the rankings. Like a good skater.  
  
Yuri, unlike Mila, actually wanted to do more than coast along on any shelf from the podium. Yuri wanted gold. And he was going to get it.  
  
It was that thought that inspired him to open his messages and text Victor. Yuri knew it was late enough, knew Victor was likely very busy with his stupid new boyfriend. But the niggling thought in his head was too much. Yuri had only managed to get 98.09. Not far from JJ’s 102.56, but further Victor’s 109.7.

  
Perhaps too far. Yuri tried to tell himself that third wasn’t bad. Third was redeemable. But he was already typing the message anyway, stretched out on his back  
  
**20:13PM** _Агапе? Ошибки?_ (Agape? Mistakes?)  
  
Yuri kept it simple, kept it curt. He didn’t want Victor to think he obsessing over it too much. Because he wasn’t. He just wanted to be sure before the free-skate tomorrow that he didn’t make the same mistakes. Yuri could just about stomach losing to Victor, but losing to JJ? Definitely not.  
  
Yuri frowned to himself as he thought of JJ, remembering their strange conversation in the hall quite suddenly. That uneasiness he’d felt earlier returned, crawling under his skin and Yuri shuffled on the stiff surface of the hotel bed. He got up to his side, staring over at the utter mess Mila had managed to make of her bed in the day or so they’d been there.  
  
Yuri was considering his options when the phone chimed, causing him to flop back down onto his back.  
_  
_ _1 Новое сообщение - Старик Виктор_

 **20:14PM** Sorry, Yura. At dinner. Talk later.   
  
Yuri stared at the English, confused for a moment before he groaned loudly, hands flopping down open around him as he’s stared up at the white ceiling of the hotel room. Victor had switched keyboards, to talk with Katsuki. That was so freaking typical, not to mention pathetic. Couldn’t Kastuki just not be lazy and translate, like a decent boyfriend? Isn’t that what boyfriends did?

Yuri caught that thought as it crossed his mind. He thought of JJ again. The sick feeling in his stomach. Yuri rolled over again, staring at Mila’s bed and her piles of clothes. Yuri dropped his phone on the bed next to him.

Eros. JJ had definitely been calling Katsuki that. That was weird, more than that. Yuri’s first thought was that Katsuki must be a fan of Victor’s, but even then, naming yourself after a short-program was pretty extreme. Yuri was sure even his own fans weren’t that level of crazy. (But they may get pretty close). Yuri couldn’t shake the memory of the two phones. The way Katsuki stammered and shook when Yuri had asked about it.  
  
Yuri was tough, but Katsuki was _old._ Like Victor-old. Should he be that scared of a kid? Admittedly, Yuri was trying to scare him but still- Yuri just couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness that had settled in him. Cold and heavy, right in the pit of his stomach. Yuri tugged distractedly at the zip of his jersey, heavy over his sleepshirt. Looked down at his phone on the crisscross of the bed linen.

He could look it up. Maybe Katsuki was like a blogger or something. Bloggers used bullshit names all the time and if it turned out Katsuki had that kind of cred on him, maybe that would explain his sudden appearance in Victor’s life. Because really, Victor was too famous for some random guy to just happen to pick up. And now that it turned out JJ knew him, too. Maybe Katsuki had interviewed him.

Or… Well, Yuri didn't want to think about the _or._

Yuri picked up the phone, opened Safari and typed in _Eros_ and _Detroit._

The first few results were all sports updates about Victor. Yuri tsked to himself, impatient and scrolling past them for the sign of an Instagram or tumblr. Even a WordPress, but there wasn’t much. Desperate, Yuri clicked through to the second page. And there he saw the first result.  
  
_Eros. Elite Companion, Based in Detroit._ //erosdetroit.com  
  
Yuri frowned, knowing the English words but not quite understanding what they were saying. He clicked through, staring at the modern website. _Eros: Elite Companion and Luxury Escort_ read the title of the page and Yuri scrolled down. It almost looked like one of those designer ones, all white with sleek looped font. And photos. Like a fashion shoot, a guy’s narrow waist as he rested against a sofa of some kind, in black and white. He swiped to the next one, mouth suddenly dropping open.

Yuri stared at the website on his phone, frozen.

It was… Yuri knew what it was now. Understanding came together like the seam on a costume. Could see it, written for him in plain black and white. The photos, the eyes weren’t shown but Yuri wasn’t stupid. He could see it, see it in the bend of the guy’s arms and neck. He slowly lay back down, any thoughts of blogging or JJ falling out of his head as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing with what he knew. About Victor. About this Katsuki.  
  
They were dating. It was serious. Yuri knew that, knew it from the look on Victor’s face. But... This guy was apparently-

‘Fuck,’ Yuri said, quietly at first but then everything started to catch up with. ‘Fuck, no. No way.’  
  
Katsuki was a prostitute. A fucking prostitute.  
  
Yuri leapt off his bed, running a hand through his hair. Fingers getting caught in it from where it had knotted after his shower. He spun on the spot in his socks, bouncing on the plush carpet of the hotel room. Phone still gripped in his hand, so tight it almost hurt.  
  
Did Victor know? No, he can’t have. It was Victor; Yuri’s _Victor._ And he called Katsuki by his name, not by this stupid alias. Victor was going around thinking that guy was his boyfriend, thinking he was someone worth spending any of Victor’s precious minutes on and the _whole time_ Katsuki was lying. Sleeping with other people, being paid for it. And Victor was walking around like a damn fool. Yuri was livid, anger flushing through his body and he punched the bed, just to let some of it out.  
  
And JJ-  
  
_‘Fuck!’_ Yuri shouted to the room, realisation hitting. JJ knew. Fuck. Yuri sat down on the bed and scrambled for his shoes. He had to talk to Victor. He had to tell him. Except Victor was at dinner with Katsuki, no way Yuri would get a word in with Katsuki there to defend himself. Victor would never listen. ‘Ugh, Victor.’  
  
That only left one other option.  
  
Yuri stood up after his runners were tied, throwing the hood of his jersey up. He had to go to Yakov. It was the only way. He grabbed his hotel key and locked his phone on Katsuki’s website, heading out the door and down the hall towards to Yakov’s room. Yuri remembered Yakov waxing poetic about finally having a room to himself, due to Victor wanting one for himself and Katsuki. Yuri remembered the room number from one of those many, many rants.  
  
Yuri knocked on the door. When he didn’t get an answer, he started kicking it.  
  
_‘_ _Nu vse, tebe pizda,’_ Yuri heard Yakov grumble from the other side of the door. Clearly he wasn’t the only one he’d been knocking on Yakov’s door. Well, whatever, Yuri had something more important that Yakov’s peace of mind to worry about.  
  
Yakov opened the door, eyes dropping from where he evidently thought someone would be to meet Yuri’s gaze. Yakov gave Yuri a once over, taking in his pyajams and jersey. His look of displeasure slightly shifted to one of... less displeasure. He took a breath before asking in English; ‘Yura, what are you doing here?’  
  
‘I need to talk to you,’ Yuri said, pushing into Yakov’s room. Yakov was much tidier than Mila, all his clothes still neatly folded in the suitcase. Yuri walked all the way, waiting for Yakov to shut the door behind him.

‘What is it? Is something wrong?’ Yakov asked, snapping the door shut. He stepped over, folding his arms over his chest and regarding Yuri with his sharp eyes. He looked really old in the hotel light, wrinkles thrown into relief.  
  
‘It’s about the other Yuri,’ Yuri said, taking his phone out of his pocket. ‘I looked him up.’  
  
Yakov said nothing for a moment, watching Yuri with a stern look. Yuri watched right back, waiting for Yakov to ask something else. Because despite everything, Yuri was scared to say it. Yakov was going to be unhappy, he was going to go straight to wherever Victor was and kill Katsuki stone dead when he realised what he was doing to Victor. Now Yuri had the gun, he was still nervous to pull the trigger.  
  
Then Yakov sighed heavily, huge chest heaving. He moved silently, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He laced his hands together between his legs as he looked up at Yuri with a very tired look on his face.  
  
‘So now you know the truth.’  
  
Yuri choked.  
  
‘What?!’ he snapped, waving his hands manically. ‘You _know?’_ _  
__  
_ ‘Yes. I figured it out the yesterday,’ Yakov said, covering his knees with his hands and voice gruff already. Well, at least he wasn’t happy- but Yuri was not at all following how Yakov could be so calm about Victor dating a prostitute who was most definitely going to break his heart. ‘Mila knows as well.’  
  
_‘Ahueyet?!’_ Yuri swore and Yakov coughed at him.  
  
‘Language!’ he scolded, but Yuri was not listening.  
  
‘Mila knows Victor’s been walking around with a liar and said nothing? And you, too?’ Yuri said, disbelief raising his voice almost to a shout. He turned on the spot, frustration and anger twisting around him like rope. He pointed an accusing finger over at Yakov, aiming his anger solely at him for daring to let Victor walk blind. ‘You’re his coach. You should know better than to let him just-’  
  
‘Victor is a man,’ Yakov interrupted sternly, raising a hand as if he might try and contain how angry Yuri was. Yuri was not going to give it up. ‘He can make his own choices. Even if I don’t like them.’  
  
‘He doesn’t even know,’ Yuri hissed and Yakov frowned at him, which Yuri thought was pretty rich. Yuri bared his teeth, practically growling. ‘And you’re just going to sit there and let this fucking prostitute take him for a ride.’  
  
‘Yuri!’ Yakov snapped, standing up suddenly. He walked over, towering over Yuri and glaring angrily down at him. ‘Now, I know you may not like him, but I will stand here and let you speak so poorly of Katsuki.’  
  
‘Poorly of that guy?’ Yuri spluttered, practically gagging with Yakov leaping to that liar’s defence. ‘I’m not saying anything that isn’t true. And Victor going’s go and get himself even more fucked up than he already is all because you’re too scared to be the messenger.’  
  
Yuri opened his phone, half-forming a plan of taking a screenshot and just sending it straight to Victor. Let Katsuki try and explain himself, because Yuri was not Yakov. Or Mila. He wasn’t going to let Victor get played by someone like this.  
  
‘Yuri, what are you doing?’ Yakov said, sounding more exasperated than anything else and Yuri bristled at hearing it. Like this was training and Yuri was just being particularly difficult. Like this wasn’t about Victor and the gun pointed straight at him.  
  
‘I’m sending Victor that guy’s website. I don’t care if Victor hates me for it, he deserves to know,’ Yuri said, unlocking his phone just to have it snatched out of his hand. Yuri’s cry was cut short when he looked up to see Yakov staring at him with blatant confusion, thick eyebrows together and mouth open in something half-said.  
  
‘What website?’ he asked and Yuri scrunched his face in frustration.  
  
‘What do you mean _what website?’_ Yuri asked, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Katsuki’s prostitute website.’  
  
‘Prostitute?’ Yakov replied blankly and Yuri rolled his eyes.  
  
‘Alright, fine. Escort or whatever he calls it,’ Yuri settled, tossing his wrist in the direction of his phone in Yakov’s hand. ‘But my language won’t change what he is. And Victor deserves to know.’  
  
Yakov stared down at the phone, eyes roaming over the open Safari window Yuri had left there. Yuri watched as the colour drained from Yakov’s face, the way his mouth sagged in shock and the wrinkles of his cheeks pulled taut. Yuri’s stomach dropped, cold thought blooming deep in his gut.  
  
‘What… what did you think I was talking about?’ Yuri asked quietly as Yakov sat back down on the couch, realising that whatever Yakov and Mila knew about Katsuki was not this. Yakov put the phone down on the bed, ran a face over his hands and swore. Yuri tried not to let himself start shaking, but he noticed his hands were trembling in front of him. He tucked them into the pockets of his jersey.  
  
_‘Den'gi v Amerike…’_ Yakov muttered, before he leaned his elbows on his knees and buried his face into his hands. Yuri watched, struggling to find any words as the gravity of the situation cooled his anger all the way down. ‘ _Ya durak.’_ _  
__  
_ Yuri waited silently as Yakov sat, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. He tried not to fidget, tried not to shuffle on his feet. But it was difficult, difficult to just sit and wait as Yakov no doubt fell into the same pit of anger Yuri had barely just crawled out of. Finally, Yakov sat up. His cheeks were red, eyes blazing. Yuri stood up tall, prepared to show Yakov that he was an adult and just as willing to fix this mess as Yakov was.  
  
‘How did you find out about this?’ Yakov asked, gesturing to the phone again. Yuri swallowed, steadied his voice and tried to seem tough.  
  
‘JJ Leroy,’ he said and Yakov blinked at him, surprised. Yuri continued as quickly as he could. ‘He knows Katsuki. He called him that name. They met in Detroit.’  
  
When Yakov said nothing to that, likely just taking it in, Yuri couldn’t stop the bite that snapped out of him.  
  
‘And I doubt they were just having dinner-’  
  
‘Yuri, that’s enough.’  
  
Yuri shut his mouth. Yakov stood up, taking Yuri’s phone for a moment. A second later, Yakov’s own phone lit up with a message. Yuri realised he probably sent himself the address. Slowly, Yakov walked back over to Yuri and handed his phone back to him. Yuri took it, glad his hands had stopped shaking. He stared up at Yakov, kept his eyes fixed on Yakov’s dull blue ones. Then Yakov reached out, taking Yuri’s shoulder and holding tightly.  
  
‘Yuri, I need you to listen to me very carefully,’ Yakov said, slowing his English right down. Yuri stood up straighter, meeting Yakov’s grip. ‘You can’t tell Victor about this. Any of it-’ Yuri opened his mouth to protest, but Yakov raised his other hand to stall him. ‘- I know. And I know you care for Vitya, but we need to protect him. This is how we protect him. Being a man means learning to keep secrets you’d rather not keep. I’m sorry to say it is now your turn.’  
  
Yuri didn’t say anything, wasn’t sure what he could say to that. Yakov sighed again, letting go of Yuri’s shoulder to reach up and brush the top of Yuri’s head with it.  
  
‘I will fix this,’ he said solemnly and Yuri believed him. ‘But Vitya can’t know. Do you understand?’  
  
Yuri nodded, holding his phone to his chest.

 

* * *

  
Yakov knocked calmly on Leroy’s hotel room door.  
  
Leroy answered the door in his Canadian kit, face going immediately slack when he noticed who was at his door. He gaped, like the fish from the markets in Saint Petersburg. Yakov rolled his shoulders, aware of his broad body and height. He waited for Leroy to speak, wanted to gauge how clever this boy could be.  
  
‘Mister Feltsman,’ Leroy whispered, before shaking himself out of whatever he got himself into. He plastered a smile on his face. Yakov had coached Victor Nikiforov for almost twenty years; he knew a fake smile when he saw one. ‘I’m afraid my father isn’t here. I think all the coaches are at dinner-’

 

Not that clever then.

  
‘I’m not here for your father,’ Yakov said, interrupting the boy’s babbling. Leroy’s voice trailed away. His eyes were skittish, mouth twitching. Yakov watched his face tell him everything he needed to know. ‘You know why I’m here.’  
  
‘I… I really don’t,’ Leroy stammered but Yakov just sighed, holding a hand out.  
  
‘Let me in,’ he said and Leroy watched him, blue eyes shimmering. For a moment, it actually looked like he would say no. But then he stepped aside, letting Yakov inside. Yakov turned to face Leroy, waited for Leroy to close the door. ‘I’ll be quick. Yuuri Katsuki. Do you know who he is?’  
  
Leroy bit his lip, wringing his hands together. He looked every inch the child Yakov knew him to be, the one Victor refused to acknowledge. If only Victor knew how wrong he’d been. But this would not be the first time Victor's willing blindness had got him in trouble.  
  
‘Yes,’ Leroy said at last and Yakov nodded, rewarding Leroy’s honesty.  
  
‘Does anyone else know?’ he asked and Leroy glanced over to the desk. Yakov followed his line of sight. Saw Leroy’s phone left there. He looked back to Leroy. ‘Did you tell anyone else?’  
  
‘No,’ Leroy said but he sounded less sure than before. Yakov stepped towards him. Leroy stepped back. Yakov watched his retreating feet.  
  
‘Listen to me, boy,’ Yakov said lowly, meeting Leroy’s gaze again. ‘If you’re in trouble, I will help you. But if you put Victor in it’s way, then I will see to it that you never skate again. Not just with the ISU, but ever. So if you want feet to skate with, then you better tell me everything.’  
  
Leroy said nothing for a while, Yakov waiting patiently as he weighed his options. Canadian, American. No difference, not to Yakov. They all hit the same beats, like those tacky songs they broadcast across the world. Yakov watched as Leroy shook in his kit, swinging his hands. Children now were so soft. Never knew how to hold themselves still, so easily distracted.  
  
‘I’m not in trouble,’ Leroy said at last, but he sighed heavily. The kind of sigh that did not promise good news. ‘But Victor might be with someone who is.’  
  
Leroy walked over to his suitcase, digging down through the folded clothes. Yakov watched, confused but waiting. Leroy stood up straight, a small bent business card in his hands. He walked over to Yakov, handed it over across the small space.  
  
‘Victor’s boyfriend is caught up in something,’ he said, handing the card over. ‘These people, they’re looking for him.’  
  
Yakov looked down at the card, thumb rolling over the name embossed there. _Meredith Thorton._

* * *

  
_Present  
  
_

* * *

  
Yuuri sat down in the chair of the table they’d chosen. It was at the edge of the coffee station, furthest out from the crowded walls. The traffic and flow of the people in the airport passed by their table in a colourful blur, the movement giving Yuuri the strange, scary sensation that he was caught in some terrible river. Dragged away by the current. His hands were still shaking as Yakov sat down across from him. Yakov regarded Yuuri with a hard gaze, eyes like stones. Yuuri looked away, nerves jittering beneath his skin in a desperate itch to run.  
  
‘So,’ Yakov said, placing his hat on the table carefully before folding his large hands together on the table. Yuuri looked at them. Yakov’s hands were all lines and wrinkled, cracked like dry paint. Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to look away from them. ‘Here we are.’  
  
Yuuri swallowed, holding onto his own thighs. Digging the tips of fingers in like the pick of his blades. The image arose suddenly and it made him feel sick to his stomach. He stared at Yakov’s hands, the red of his knuckles. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper.  
  
‘How much do you know?’ Yuuri asked, closing his eyes to it.  
  
‘I know who you are. More importantly I know what you are,’ Yakov replied gruffly and Yuuri flinched, shame flooding through him unbidden. His arms moved, memory guiding them as he folded them in front of his stomach. Like he might shield himself. ‘In fact, I know more about you than I thought I’d ever need to.’  
  
Yuuri frowned, looking up to meet Yakov’s gaze. Yakov was still watching him, eyes narrowed in obvious suspicion, his shoulders a wall. Yuuri shrank down, but felt the confusion mould words in his mouth before he could stop himself; ‘What do you mean?’  
  
‘Katsuki,’ Yakov said, clipped with accent. Whittling the word down. Yuuri bit his lip, stomach twisted over itself in anxious knots as he felt the suspicion creep in like the harbour rising back home. Swelling inside of him, submerged beneath the surface. Yakov gave a terse laugh. ‘You know, it took me a moment; the other day, when you introduced yourself. It had been so long.’  
  
Yakov’s smile melted off him instantly as he looked at Yuuri across the table, all sharp accusation from the turned corner of his mouth.  
  
‘But I remember you today,’ he continued solemnly. He frowned, thick eyebrows coming together and Yuuri felt the walls of his nerves press in around him. Boxing him in. ‘What’s it been? Four years, since I saw you last?’ Yakov cast a look across Yuuri, as though he were reviewing him. Like Yuuri was a thing that Yakov could catch the value in through dents or marks. Yuuri tightened his grip on himself. ‘Look at you now.’  
  
Yuuri let out a shuddering breath, mind trying to catch up with what Yakov was saying. ‘So you know-’  
  
‘Everything. Yes,’ Yakov said curtly, interrupting Yuuri easily. He didn’t raise his voice. But the depth of his words rendered Yuuri silent, the emotion bleeding through in the sharp angles of his accent. Yuuri watched, frozen with the fear that had come alive inside of him. It bit and scratched at him with something razor-edged, tearing the inside of his gut up. He held onto himself so tightly it began to burn.  
  
The vivid memory of Victor’s arms around him burst like a firework in Yuuri’s mind as he did so. His mouth opened in silent hurt, the reality of what was in front of him rising up to cloud the memory as though it were a dream. Yuuri closed his eyes. Maybe it had been just as such, as Victor had never seemed so far away. Yuuri had been so foolish to let himself fall for any of it. Now he’d stumbled into something and he wasn’t sure there was anyone there to help him.  
  
_‘How..?’_ Yuuri asked, whispered. When Yakov just frowned at him again, Yuuri repeated himself. ‘How?’  
  
Yakov’s mouth twitched. ‘It doesn’t matter.’  
  
‘It matters to me,’ Yuuri replied, the sudden realisation that perhaps Victor had confessed to Yakov without Yuuri’s permission blooming before him. The betrayal stung like a burn and it singed the memories that still lingered fresh in Yuuri’s mind, soft at the edges where Yuuri’s affection turned Victor over like a blanket. The comfort Victor’s memory used to offer turned cold. ‘Did Victor tell you?’  
  
‘How much easier my life would be if he had,’ Yakov replied, all targeted frustration but Yuuri felt the stupid, flickering hope that had been his undoing from the start come to life inside him again.  
  
He licked his lips, careful. ‘Then, how..?’  
  
‘Perhaps you’re just not as careful as you should be. Being what you are,’ Yakov said cruelly and Yuuri flushed, a spark of anger chipping inside of him and he sat up straighter in his chair. Something rubbed him wrong, the way Yakov spoke to him like that. Calling him _what_ instead of _who._ He bared his teeth as he gritted the words out across the table.  
  
‘And _what,_ exactly, might that be?’ he said and Yakov raised an eyebrow at him, casting a glance around the coffee station.  
  
‘You mean for me to say it here? Not in public, surely,’ Yakov said pointedly and Yuuri felt stupid, his cheeks burning but he refused to break Yakov’s gaze. Even with his heart rabbiting in his chest in an uneven, stammering beat. It shook through his whole body, trembling fingers burying into the fabric of his coat. Yuuri still said nothing and it was Yakov’s turn to scoff now. ‘I thought not.’  
  
Yuuri looked away bitterly, breathing heavily through his nose as the stuttering panic in his belly mixed with the simmering anger that was boiling up inside of him. Eyes fixed on the passing shoes of the patrons of the airport, Yuuri tried not to let his words shake as he spoke.  
  
‘What do you want?’ he asked, not so stupid as to think Yakov was going to simply sit on the truth now that he knew it. Deep down, something Yuuri was too ashamed to name relief for what it was snapped inside of him. All these years, Yuuri had side-stepped the edges of his secret. That kind of luck was always bound to run out. Some twisted, dark voice in Yuuri’s head reminded him of such as he tried not to let his anxiety betray tears.  
  
‘Whatever it is you are doing with Victor, it stops today,’ Yakov said carefully, slowly. Like Yuuri was a child to be scolded. Yuuri bristled, fear speared with the sharp edge of indignation at Yakov’s assumption.  
  
‘I’m not _doing_ anything,’ Yuuri snapped and Yakov laughed at him again. It was a bitter, empty sound and it chilled Yuuri to his bones.  
  
‘You mean to tell me it was fate?’ Yakov said, voice lilting with hollow amusement. Yuuri shifted uncomfortably, unsure of where the conversation was heading but certain that he didn’t like the direction. ‘Your career lies in tatters. Forgotten, for all it matters to the rest of us. And then you just happen to meet Victor, my Vitya-’ Yakov paused at that, seemingly steeling himself and Yuuri felt his chest constrict with nerves. Yakov breathed out slowly before continuing. ‘I am no fool, Mister Katsuki.’  
  
Yuuri took a sharp breath. He fixed a look across the table. ‘I don’t know what you’re implying, but I hope it’s not what I think.’  
  
Yakov sighed then, taking Yuuri by surprise. He blinked across from Yakov, emotion stuttering and too afraid to say anything. Instead, he sat in his dread like it were shackles and waited as Yakov shifted in his seat. Yakov’s eyes were the deep, rolling colour of a stormcloud and Yuuri waited for it to break above him. His breath shook out of him when Yakov looked at him again.  
  
‘I’ve seen a lot of things. Been working with skaters many years,’ Yakov said at last, looking away from Yuuri to watch the strangers of the airport pass them in hurried motion. ‘Seen the emptiness that retirement breeds. You would not be the first to stray so far to fill that space quitting leaves. Few things offer you that same rush. That heat in the blood the work gives you.’  
  
Yuuri didn't say anything, too scared even to breathe. Instead, he held his breath in silent preparation as Yakov looked at him again. Mouth bent like metal, and the hard line of it, too.  
  
‘I think I understand you,’ Yakov said and Yuuri scoffed, unable to catch himself in time as panic ignited the disbelief.  
  
‘You understand nothing,’ Yuuri replied darkly, meaning every word.  
  
Yakov pursed his lips, wrinkled cheeks bowing under the motion. For a moment, Yuuri wasn’t sure he’d say anything else. Then Yakov leant back in his seat, hands coming down to rest on his knees. He was watching Yuuri again with that same austere expression. Yuuri stared back, trying to not give into the anger that was fast filling him.  
  
Yuuri had always been taught to be gracious.  
  
Yakov took a deep breath, dark eyes back out across the airport. The white hairs of his eyebrows caught the filtered sunlight through the vaulted ceiling of the airport. ‘Victor has always been about the work. Even as a child. No doubt you know his story. So many do.’  
  
Yuuri did. Or he would’ve said he did before meeting Victor. Now Yuuri knew there were truths and memories there that no one in any magazine could touch. He thought of Victor in their hotel bed- moonlight on his cheeks and his fingers in Yuuri’s hair.

 _I used to,_ Victor had said when Yuuri asked him if still loved skating. He couldn’t help but think of that now.

‘Always the work,’ Yakov repeated softly. His accent clipped the _r_ like wings. It rang hollow in Yuuri’s ears. Yakov turned back to Yuuri again. ‘He’s dedicated his whole life to skating. To the art of it. To being the best. And he is; the best.’  
  
Yuuri knew that, too. His heart ached with the truth of it.  
  
‘When you have a calling like that… very hard to leave room for everything else,’ Yakov continued when Yuuri said nothing. He looked down at his own hands, but he held them firm. Yuuri tightened his grip on himself, the impulsive need to be smaller still. ‘The loneliness that breeds almost becomes a friend to you. Makes it easy then, to believe someone so quickly when they offer you the right things. Easy to take advantage.’

Yuuri thought about that for a second before Yakov’s implication dawned on him. He lurched forward, horrified at the insinuation. Hands gripping the edge of the table and retort bursting from him like a bullet.

‘I did not lie to Victor,’ Yuuri hissed quietly, anger and insult blurring the words. He clutched at the table tightly, knuckles turning white. ‘How- _how dare you?’_

‘Money. Status,’ Yakov continued blithely, like any of what he'd said wasn't half as cutting as it was. ‘For someone like you, I imagine Victor is the perfect springboard.’

‘What do you mean someone like me?’ Yuuri asked, though he was sure he already knew. Yakov gave him a pitying glance.

‘I mean either you're looking for money, or you're looking for your way back onto the ice. Both of which Vitya provides you,’ Yakov said fervently, voice trembling for the first time and Yuuri startled at his loss of temper. He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. Then Yakov looked at Yuuri across the table with so much contempt Yuuri felt diminished from it. ‘I won't allow it.’

‘It's not true,’ Yuuri whispered back, head shaking. Yakov made a sharp, derisive noise from the back of his throat.

‘No? You would say so,’ Yakov said, regarding Yuuri again. Despite the puff of his coat, the wool of his hat- Yuuri felt exposed under the eyes of Yakov Feltsman. Like he was wearing a brand. ‘I suppose this is the part where you tell me that Victor is different. That what you have is real. _Da?’_

Yuuri didn't answer. Refused to fall for the bait Yakov was tossing before him. But it stung to hear it anyway. Yuuri thought of the way Victor had been the night before. Thought of the way he kissed Yuuri’s wrist, just on the inside. Right over the pulse point. The way Yuuri’s heart had beat so quickly as Victor pulled off Yuuri’s sleep shirt, ran his hands down Yuuri’s side. The smile of Victor’s face as he had kissed him, not even an hour ago.

‘It is different,’ Yuuri said, but it sounded weak even to himself. Yakov raised a wary eyebrow.

‘You say so. But I think not.’

‘I'm not using Victor,’ Yuuri said, trying to sound stronger this time. He forced himself to meet Yakov’s eye, tried to ignore the swirling anxiousness that pooled inside him. Made his chest heavy.

‘It makes more sense that what Victor would have me believe,’ Yakov replied and Yuuri snatched his hands back to himself, revulsion flushing through him. Yakov gave Yuuri another considering look. ‘What you would have me believe. And after you leave, it’s what I'll tell him when this ends.’

Yuuri’s blood went cold, stomach sinking with leaden weight. Hands hovering, unsure where to hold. ‘What do you mean _tell him?_ Tell him what?’

‘The truth of what you are,’ Yakov said sternly and Yuuri shook his head. ‘What you do.’

Yuuri realised too late what Yakov intended to do, staring blankly at him for a few moments. When he finally caught up with what Yakov was saying, Yuuri felt like all the wind had been knocked out of him. Like his lungs were starving for air and he couldn't catch his breath. The image was too clear in his mind. Yakov pulling Victor aside, whispering in Russian so Yuuri wouldn't understand. The blue of Victor’s eyes turning over like a tide.

‘Victor won't believe you,’ Yuuri said, perhaps desperately. He shook his head so much his glasses slipped down his nose. ‘He knows… he knows that isn't true.’

‘Victor knows nothing.’

‘I’ll tell him.’ Yuuri’s words shook like wind chimes. He swallowed, met Yakov’s eye. ‘I'll tell him that isn't true.’

‘You will do _nothing!’_ Yakov snapped and Yuuri jumped. Could see people turn to stare for a moment. The lull of the idle chatter around them. Yakov sighed again, ran a hand over his face before he leaned forward, resting on the table on his elbows. He pointed a finger across the table at Yuuri. ‘Victor may have bought whatever you're selling, but I will not stand for it. I know what it is you do. And I know the promises you can't keep.’

It felt like a blow. Yuuri leaned back against his chair, openly wounded.  
  
Tears stung in the corner of Yuuri’s eye, hot and far too easy. He blinked quickly, refusing to give Yakov the satisfaction. He balled his hands into fists, held them in front of himself like he might fight. Yakov glanced down at him, raised an eyebrow as he regarded Yuuri’s fists.  
  
‘I imagine it must be nice. To have everyone want you,’ Yakov continued slowly, idly. Like they were conversing the weather. Yuuri took a deep breath through his nose, emotion bubbling hot. Colouring his cheeks, wetting his nose. ‘See, that’s the thing about boys like you. You don’t even realise,  how you burn everything that touches you.’  
  
Yuuri didn’t know what to say to that. The truth of the words hit closer to home than Yuuri would ever want admit, shame clouding his mind in a cold, foggy feeling. It left him with a bad taste in his mouth. Strangely, he thought of Robert. Their last evening. The surprise Robert had shown at the thought of Yuuri engaging with someone outside of work. Yuuri wondered if his heart was that transparent. If anyone could see right through it. Like glass.  
  
‘You don’t scare me,’ Yuuri lied quietly, words barely above a whisper. Yakov’s lips thinned and he shook his head slowly. Yuuri felt sick. He knew pity when he saw it.  
  
‘Given everything you went through. I can see why Victor would catch your eye.’  
  
Yuuri seethed. ‘You don’t know anything-’  
  
‘Call him then,’ Yakov interrupted. Yuuri choked on his words, surprised. Yakov fixed Yuuri with a cold stare. ‘You’re so confident he’ll understand? Take your side?’  
  
Yakov reached into the pocket of his own coat. He pulled out his phone. An older model, blocky and tarnished. It placed it on the table between them. Yuuri stared down at it, lump in his throat. He threw a look in Yakov’s direction, hoping Yakov wouldn’t notice how his hands shook when he put them back on his own lap. Hoped it wouldn’t look too much like surrender.  
  
‘I can call him myself,’ Yuuri replied, but Yakov simply gestured to his phone.  
  
‘Then do.’  
  
But Yuuri couldn’t. The fear had snuck in when he hadn’t been looking, distracted by his offence over what Yakov had been saying. But now as Yuuri sat there, the white noise of the airport crowding in around him, Yuuri realised that maybe his position wasn’t as strong as he thought.  
  
Yakov was Victor’s coach. More than that, Yuuri knew. He’d done more than just guide Victor through skating. Like Yakov said, Yuuri knew Victor’s story. The world did. And even if a fifth of it were true, what were the chances Victor would take Yuuri’s side over Yakov’s? Yuuri had already lied to Victor once, twice. Yuuri wasn’t even entirely sure how many times.  
  
‘Not so tough now,’ Yakov said and Yuuri flinched. With a huff, Yakov sat up straight, opening his coat so to pull something from inside it.  ‘So, how much will it take for you to get on that plane and be done with it?’  
  
Yuuri balked, furious.

‘I don't want money,’ Yuuri snapped across the table, anger pulsing inside of him. Yakov laughed cruelly.

‘You mean to tell me you give it away for free? Not a great business plan,’ Yakov replied meanly and Yuuri flushed.  
  
‘You have no right,’ Yuuri said, watching helplessly as Yakov pulled out a cheque book. Yuuri felt the nausea as it swept through him, repulsed by the very notion of Yakov’s suggestion.  
  
‘No? And who are you to say that,’ Yakov said, eyes down on his own pocket book. Like Yuuri wasn’t even something worth meeting the eye of. It made Yuuri feel cheap in a sharp, terrible way nothing ever had before. The tears he’d fought before ran now, unstopped. Two long, wet lines down his cheeks as he stared down at the black moleskin of the book.  
  
When Yakov still didn’t move, hands frozen on the edges of the chequebook, Yuuri looked up through his glasses. Yakov’s eyebrows were knitted together in confusion, eyes sharp on Yuuri’s face. Yuuri sniffed, raising a hand to wipe at his tears. Yakov’s frown deepened. Yuuri’s cheeks turned warm as he wiped at his nose.    
  
‘Keep your money,’ Yuuri said thickly, casting a glance around the coffee-station. One or two people were staring. Yuuri was making a scene. The embarrassment hurtled through him, mixing with the anxiousness that sat like nausea in his belly. ‘I don’t want it.’  
  
Yuuri went to stand, but was stopped suddenly by Yakov reaching out across the small table and catching his wrist. The grip was almost bruising, Yuuri hissing a breath as Yakov held firm. Slowly, Yuuri sat back down in his seat and Yakov let him go.  
  
‘If not money, then why do this?’ Yakov asked quietly, eyes fixed on Yuuri’s face. Yuuri didn’t reply, not wanting to give in anymore than he had to. Yakov watched him and Yuuri wished he would stop crying, just for a moment. ‘Skating?’  
  
‘Nothing,’ Yuuri replied instantly, hurt flashing something bright in him. ‘I told you, I don’t want anything from you. Or Victor.’  
  
Yakov watched as Yuuri pulled the sleeve of his coat down, using it as a makeshift handkerchief. He sat back in his chair, towering over Yuuri in silent regard. Yuuri tried to ignore him, tried to calm himself down. Maybe Yakov would let him leave, once he’d done that. Then Yakov was forward again, hands flat on the table. Yuuri tried not to jump at the movement, holding his hands close to his face like he might a mask.  
  
‘I’m going to ask you something,’ Yakov said slowly, eyes focused on Yuuri’s in a stormy glare. ‘And you are going to tell me the truth.’  
  
Yuuri nodded as he lowered his hands, tears going cold on the backs of his knuckles.  
  
‘Are you in love with him?’  
  
To be honest, Yuuri had been sure that that was going to be what Yakov asked him. He had dreaded it though, because as the question landed on the table between them, Yuuri felt his heart was being bent too far. Like it might break under the strain. He thought of Victor’s face, flushed from the skate, from the kiss, the day before. In the quiet of the corridor, the weight of its wall against Yuuri’s back as Victor told him he loved him.

Yuuri also remembered how the first thing he felt upon hearing the words had been guilt. Guilt as the only thing that had gone through his head as Victor said it was not _I love you, too_ but _I don’t know._ Because as close as it felt to love, as much as it swelled Yuuri’s heart and bloomed hot inside his body, Yuuri was still unsure. He’d never been in love before. Never had anyone outside of the bonds of Phichit or family who came close to filling the space love left. The word seemed too large, almost. Like Yuuri’s feelings couldn’t quite reach the corners of it.  
  
What if he was wrong? What if he gave his trust in this skittish, aching affection and it did nothing but lead them both astray? What of Victor’s heart then?  
  
Victor deserved the world. Yuuri could barely offer him the truth.  
  
‘I…’ Yuuri said, before swallowing the rest of the words. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say it to Victor because it wouldn’t have been true. And he didn’t say it to Yakov now. The silence grew between them like a weed, taking root in Yuuri’s chest and pulling his ribs together so he couldn’t quite breathe.  
  
‘Interesting,’ Yakov said at last, word strangely light in his mouth. Yuuri looked away, unable to face it anymore. His throat hurt now, nose blocked from holding the tears back. He wrapped his arms back around himself. Dug his fingers into his upper arms until it hurt. He wanted it to hurt. ‘What you said about the money, it’s true, isn’t it?’  
  
Yuuri didn’t bother responding to that, instead staring off across the airport. He watched people mill about the bookshop that faced the coffee-station. A man and woman held hands, kissing easily. Yuuri tried not to think of Victor, but found himself failing terribly. The thought of Victor stuck like a thorn. Buried deep, where Yuuri couldn’t pull it out of himself.  
  
‘You weren’t lying.’  
  
Yuuri scoffed bitterly. Thew Yakov the darkest look he could manage. ‘What? You believe me now?’  
  
‘I believe that if it was really your intent, you would’ve lied and told me you loved him,’ Yakov replied bluntly and Yuuri was rendered silent again, insult and misery tied together like the rope chains his sister would make the lanterns back home. Yuuri thought of the image now. Following the burning red paper home like stars across the sea.  
  
He thought of Victor’s face again. It hurt like a bruise.  
  
‘I don’t think you’re a bad person, Mister Katsuki,’ Yakov said and Yuuri restrained himself from snapping something back to that too quickly. Biting his tongue had become habit. ‘But you are a problem.’  
  
‘I care about him,’ Yuuri blurted out, watching the couple that had caught his eye earlier move away towards departures. He turned to face Yakov again, trying not to shrink too far back into his chair. ‘I do, I swear.’  
  
Yakov considered him silently for a few moments before speaking. ‘I believe you.’  
  
The relief was so palpable that it felt like a physical touch. The weight sliding from Yuuri’s back as his stomach tentatively unknotted itself. He sighed deeply, wondering if there was light at the end of this tunnel yet. Yakov took his chequebook in hand again, slipping it back into the pocket of his coat. Yuuri uncrossed his arms, gripping the edges of his chair as he distantly thought of getting some water before washing his face in the bathroom.  
  
‘But it doesn’t matter,’ Yakov said suddenly and Yuuri felt like the floor had fallen out from under him. He whipped his head up, mouth open in something unsaid as he gaped across the table. ‘Caring is not enough. Not for what you two are doing. And what you’re doing is foolish.’  
  
‘W-what do you mean?’ Yuuri stammered, watching as Yakov straightened his coat. Indifferent, like the emotion that flooded down through Yuuri was something Yakov could brush off as easily as the snow that melted on his coat.  
  
‘I mean, that you are a reckless, careless child,’ Yakov said angrily, words snapping together so Yuuri had to strain over the pitch of Yakov’s accent. ‘Careless with yourself. And you’d be careless with Victor, too.’  
  
Yuuri was shaking his head, but the truth of the words rattled deep. The feeling of being transparent caught up with him again and Yuuri wondered if he’d admitted more than he ever meant to by refusing to answer Yakov’s question on his feelings for Victor. He thought of the way Victor had reacted when he’d learned Yuuri had lied. How he’d opened himself up even more, only for Yuuri to run even further. Would that always be the way things went? Yuuri had the image of the lanterns again, of the candles that filled them. How it burned brighter the more wax it ate as it went.  
  
Yuuri didn’t want to take what he couldn’t give back. Was too afraid to ask and Yakov could see it as clearly as if it were written across Yuuri’s face. The shame came back, crawling in the dark corners that Yuuri’s feelings for Victor just couldn’t reach.  
  
‘I found you without even looking,’ Yakov continued and Yuuri shuddered. ‘What happens if someone else decides to look? I will not let whatever chases you take Vitya, too.’  
  
‘I’ll protect him,’ Yuuri said without thinking, but he knew it to be true. Yakov raised an eyebrow.  
  
‘How? You can barely protect yourself.’  
  
‘From what? From you?’ Yuuri threw back, just as meanly. Or as mean as he could manage. Yakov’s face flashed in warning, but Yuuri took no heed of such. The anger inside him had suddenly galvanised at the thought of Victor being under any kind of threat, especially at Yakov’s hand. Yakov was supposed to be on Victor’s side.  
  
_Together,_ Victor had promised him before the free-skate. _We’ll face it together._ _  
_ _  
_ It was all Victor had asked of Yuuri. Yuuri may not be able to give Victor everything, may be lost to the promises he felt he couldn’t make. But at the heart of everything that Victor had asked of him, that was what sat in its roots. That they try to do it together. Yuuri swallowed down his fear, thinking of that one thought as he glared at Yakov with barely contained contempt. If Victor was to extend his hand like that to Yuuri, then that was between them. Yakov had no right to hold Yuuri like an axe over Victor’s head. It wasn’t fair.  
  
‘How far do you think you’re ready to go?’ Yakov challenged. He put a hand into a fist, hitting the table with it and Yuuri jumped from the outburst. ‘How willing are you to put yourself on the line?’  
  
‘More willing than you,’ Yuuri retorted and Yakov gritted his teeth and for a moment, Yuuri thought that was it. But then Yakov sat back, running a hand over his hair. Pushing the thinning lines of it back. He cast Yuuri a cold glance as he sat silently, the bustling of the airport passing overhead in a buzz.  
  
‘Victor is powerful,’ he said slowly and Yuuri frowned, confused with the direction he was taking. ‘Talented, wealthy. Famous, of course. The scandal would be huge. But Vitya is strong. He would survive.’  
  
Yuuri felt the dread swell inside him. Awful, cold weight as Yakov fixed Yuuri with a cruel turn of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but not too far from the slant of one either.The expression twisted his face into something unkind.  
  
‘I wonder, would you survive it?’  
  
When understanding dawned, Yuuri felt the bottom of his stomach drop out from him.  
  
‘Are you…’ Yuuri said, voice bare. Anger muting him. ‘Are you threatening me?’  
  
‘If not me, then it will be someone else,’ Yakov replied but Yuuri shook his head, speaking over him firmly.  
  
‘Fine,’ Yuuri said, with a confidence he did not feel. He thought of home, of his family. If they found out… He could never go back. The shame would be too great, it would disgrace his family. They would never recover. He couldn’t do it. But if he couldn’t even think it, then surely Yakov wouldn’t either? He was pushing, just trying to scare Yuuri off. He had to be. Well, it wasn’t going to work. Yuuri would call his bluff. ‘Then let it be someone else.’  
  
Yakov frowned, thick eyebrows together. ‘You’d let that happen? Let everyone know that you’re-’  
  
Yakov stopped then, the first hesitation he’d shown in their conversation. Yuuri inhaled sharply, anger twisting in the back of his throat.  
  
‘That I’m what?’ he said, anger obvious even to himself. He could see movement in the corner of his eye. People were staring again, he wasn’t being as quiet as he could be. For the first time in a long time, Yuuri found himself unafraid of it. Instead, he was entirely focused on Yakov. The way he licked his lips, now avoiding Yuuri’s gaze. Yuuri tsked out a bitter laugh between his teeth. ‘You can’t even say it.’  
  
‘It doesn’t change the truth of it.’  
  
‘I’m not afraid of the truth.’  
  
‘I think that’s exactly what you’re afraid of,’ Yakov said and that shut Yuuri up. He was about to bite his lip, but caught himself. He didn’t want to show his nerves. Not to this man, who sat before him with Yuuri’s life in his hands and holding it like it weighed nothing. The resentment was toxic. ‘You’re barely done being a child and you think you can sit there and move me around? I’m not like Victor, or those men you play so thoughtlessly with.’  
  
‘Don’t,’ Yuuri warned, but Yakov kept going.  
  
‘You care so little for yourself?’ Yakov asked and Yuuri felt the heat of his cheeks pour down his neck. ‘Is that what you mean to convince me of? All you’ve done is show me how little you realise the damage you could do.’  
  
‘It’s my life. These are my choices,’ Yuuri said carefully but Yakov wasn’t even frowning now. Instead, he looked almost sad. Yuuri didn’t trust it. An empty thing; hollow like a mask. Yuuri shifted uncomfortably on seeing the lines of it in Yakov’s face.  
  
‘That is what you think,’ Yakov said, reaching into his coat again. For one moment, Yuuri thought he was going to take the chequebook out again and the retort pooled on his tongue, ready for it. But instead Yakov withdrew a piece of paper. Folded awkwardly, haphazardly. Yakov opened it, placing it face up on the table in front of them. ‘Which just shows how dangerous you are. You think you can protect Victor, fine. But he's not the only one.'  
  
Yuuri reached for the paper before looking at it, half-afraid that if he looked away from Yakov it would show some kind of weakness. But he took the paper in hand, looking down at it. It was a list of the qualifiers for the Grand Prix Final, clearly printed from the ISU website and in black and white. But Yuuri’s eyes were drawn straight to where Yakov had underlined in dark, black ink.  
  
_Phichit Chulanont._ _  
_ _  
_ ‘What is this?’ Yuuri whispered, everything inside of him going cold. Yakov exhaled deeply, resignation in his breath. It swallowed the air around Yuuri, holding his hostage.  
  
‘You think that if the truth came out, you could contain it to yourself. Take the hit, so to say,’ Yakov said, but Yuuri wasn’t looking at him. He stared down at the tapered font of Phichit’s name, the thick lines of the pen beneath it. ‘But you are not as big a shield as you think.’  
  
Yuuri glanced up then, still struggling to find the words. He felt like what Yakov was trying to tell him was just around the corner, but Yuuri could not bend to see it. The dread that filled him had such gravity though that he felt like he was being pulled along, dragged in the current of something too heavy to fight against.  
  
‘I told you already, that Victor would be fine. And you said you would face your consequences,’ Yakov continued slowly. He nodded his head towards the sheet. ‘But what of your friend? How well do you think you could protect him?’  
  
‘Please,’ Yuuri said for the first time, the word drowning. He held the paper to his chest, like he might hold Phichit there. Between his ribs, where nothing could hurt him. ‘Leave him out of it. He’s got nothing to do with this.’  
  
‘They will launch an investigation,’ Yakov said, voice indifferent. Like Yuuri had said nothing. ‘Even if you managed to keep yourself out of his life, it would not matter. The scandal would be terrible. You know how the Western countries are.’  
  
Yuuri did know. They all knew. Phichit was Thai, had fought so hard for so long back in Detroit to break past what people thought of him. Yuuri remembered the jokes, well-intentioned but barbed at the student bar as they sat with classmates. Phichit wanted to be the first Thai skater to win the Grand Prix, wanted to clear a path to something the world had never even thought was reachable for him. A prostitution investigation… It wouldn't just take that dream, it would…  
  
‘He doesn’t deserve it,’ Yuuri pleaded. ‘It’s just me, don’t-’  
  
‘It will not matter,’ Yakov said and Yuuri knew it to be true. ‘Even if they found him innocent, the ISU would not be so forgiving. Not like they would be for Vitya.’  
  
Yuuri said nothing for a long time. He sank back in his chair, defeated. It was true. Victor was white, he was famous. They would stand by him in a way Yuuri knew they wouldn’t for Phichit. They way they hadn't for Yuuri either. He wouldn’t release the paper, wouldn’t hand Phichit’s name back over like it was nothing more than a bargaining chip. Yuuri held it tighter to himself. He watched as Yakov took his phone back up from the table, how he adjusted his coat again. Yuuri felt tears, but he blinked them away. He would not cry anymore.  
  
‘What do you want?’ Yuuri asked, though he already knew.  
  
‘You get on your plane. You go back to wherever it is you came from, and you leave Victor alone,’ Yakov replied easily, like he was merely reciting the weather. Yuuri trembled in his chair, fury bright inside him like a fire. ‘I keep your secret. You keep your friend safe.’  
  
Yakov was watching him now, steel eyes focused entirely on Yuuri’s face. Yuuri nodded, clearly and slowly to show he understood. But he couldn’t stop the anger that bit inside him, snapping back with teeth.  
  
‘You’re an evil man,’ Yuuri said, not bothering to keep his voice down. Yakov didn’t respone at first, eyes flashing in the white light of the airport. But then he was moving, pushing his chair back from the table and standing. He adjusted the buttons of his coat.  
  
‘That’s what being a parent is,’ Yakov said solemnly. He looked down at Yuuri from where he stood. Yuuri stared right back, biting his tongue. ‘Cruelty to protect your children. Vitya may think he’s alone, but I am still here.’  
  
‘You are not his father,’ Yuuri said, anger brewing something bold in him. He bared his teeth.  
  
‘And you are not his boyfriend,’ Yakov retorted, looking up and meeting Yuuri’s eye at last, rendering Yuuri silent. ‘Not anymore.’  
  
Yakov reached down, taking his hat in hand. He brushed it off, as though the words of their conversation stuck to it like dust. Yuuri burned- with the hurt, the anger. The fear that coiled tight in his belly, waiting to strike. To bury it’s teeth into something Yuuri couldn’t save. He crushed the paper between his hands, he gripped it so tightly. Yuuri thought of Victor, of their promise near an hour ago. Was Victor at the station, wondering where Yakov was. Did he know..?  
  
Yuuri realised suddenly that the last time Victor kissed him was just that. The last time.  
  
‘What do I tell him?’ Yuuri said, voice choked as tears swallowed his throat. Yakov returned his hat to his head with a firm press as Yuuri now stared blankly at the table  
  
‘Make something up,’ Yakov said simply and Yuuri closed his eyes briefly, feeling the tears slip down his cheeks openly. He looked at Yakov then, body still shaking as everything pulled apart inside of him. Yakov stared back at him, unperturbed by Yuuri’s fury. ‘Isn’t that what people pay you for?’  
  
At that, Yakov gave Yuuri one more nod, before he turned to leave and joined the passing throng. Abandoning Yuuri to the absence of the future he’d been certain that morning had been so close. Yuuri let out a long breath. It shook out of him, stuttering his lips. He closed his eyes again, trying to steady his breathing. Let the noise of everything wash over him. Drown him. Like he might slip away.

 

* * *

 

Phichit was woken up by the sound of the front door. His first instinct was panic- stomach dropping, heart bursting into erratic hammering as he sat up quickly in his bed, trying to adjust to the half-dark that came filtered in through his blinds. After a few moments of listening to the shuffling in the hall though, Phichit realised that it was Yuuri. It had to be Yuuri. He checked his phone from the bedside table. 4:32AM. Phichit groaned to himself, a headache catching up with him from the sudden disrupt to his sleep. He closed his eyes and flopped back onto the bed, gathering the blanket back around himself. Yuuri and he could talk in the morning.

Phichit tried to let himself fall back into the exhaustion that weighed his eyelids, but he couldn’t stop listening out for Yuuri. Listening to the muffled noise as Yuuri no doubt took his shoes off. The drop of Yuuri’s bags against the floor. He lay in the dark, eyes closed and trying to pretend he could sleep despite knowing Yuuri was home at last. He could even hear his hamsters begin to nose about their cage, no doubt stirred on by the movement of Yuuri outside.  
  
It was silent after a short while and Phichit thought Yuuri had gone to bed, but then there was a soft knock on his bedroom door. Phichit rolled back over to check his phone, blinking at the brightness. 4:44AM. Another knock on the door.  
  
‘Go to bed,’ Phichit muttered to a Yuuri who could not hear him, interrupted sleep rearing its head in cranky resentment as Phichit turned back over to face his wall. It was quiet again and Phichit almost felt like sleep was within reach when the door opened from the end of the room.

‘Phichit?’ Yuuri asked quietly.

‘I’m asleep,’ Phichit replied from his pillow.

Yuuri said nothing else, but Phichit couldn't hear him leaving. A little part of Phichit grumbled about not being left get back to sleep. The rest of him however suddenly felt quite warm as it looked promisingly like Yuuri had forgiven him. Phichit reached behind himself, scrambled the duvet up and pulled it back, leaving a perfect Yuuri-sized space in invitation. He heard the click of the hall light, then the door close and within moments, Yuuri was in the bed with him. Phichit rolled over to face Yuuri, opening his eyes.

It took a few moments to adjust to the dark, but once he did, Phichit saw Yuuri staring at him from the other side of the pillow. Glasses gone, hair dark. Phichit blinked at him, chancing a smile. 

‘You good, guy?’

Yuuri shuffled closer, eyes closing. ‘Better now.’  
  
Phichit rolled over a bit, letting Yuuri get more comfortable next to him. He poked his legs against Phichit’s, both of them bare in their shorts and Phichit yelped with the cold. ‘You’re freezing and I hate you.’  
  
‘That’s fair,’ Yuuri replied quietly and something was off. Yuuri didn’t usually give in that easily to his teasing. Not unless Yuuri was feeling particularly sensitive, or worse, it was Bad Day. Dread and worry settled high in Phichit’s chest. He watched as Yuuri got comfortable, adjusting the twists in the t-shirt he was wearing. He lay on his back, turning to look at Phichit. He could see Yuuri’s eyes, even in the dark. Shining like marbles.  
  
Phichit knew he could wait for morning. He probably should. But by then, Yuuri would likely have gone through all the mental loops he assigned himself when he wanted to try and control a situation. So while Phichit could wait, he could also-

‘How was Moscow?’ Phichit asked, heart dropping when Yuuri turned away from him instantly. Never a good sign. Yuuri could never keep good news to himself.

He was quiet for so long, Phichit thought he might not say anything. Maybe even have fallen asleep. When Yuuri finally spoke, he sounded distant. Almost asleep anyway.

‘It didn't work out,’ Yuuri said quietly, words thin. Yuuri looked up at the ceiling for a few moments before taking a deep breath. Then he looked back to Phichit, a very sad smile on his face. Phichit smiled back sympathetically, trying to ignore the disappointment that was making him feel all the more awake. Something sharp sat in that feeling, something Phichit wouldn’t quite call dread. But it wasn’t too far off it either.

‘What happened?’ he pushed gently. Yuuri made a small noise in the back of his throat, before he turned over, pushing Phichit onto his back and burrowing himself under Phichit’s arm. Phichit went easily, wrapping himself around the small bundle of Yuuri he now had on his shoulder. 

‘It just didn't work out.’

Phichit huffed a nervous laugh across the top of Yuuri’s head. ‘That's all you have to say?’

Yuuri made another noise of misery from where he was currently burying himself into Phichit’s sleep-shirt. Phichit didn't know whether he was warming up with affection or nerves. It was nice, having Yuuri back and especially if they were on speaking terms again, however… Something wasn’t right. Phichit tried to get his scattered, exhausted thoughts together. He thought, randomly, of the way Victor laughed when Yuuri had told a joke that really wasn't that funny. Remembered how Yuuri looked in the flooding material of Victor’s jumper.

‘Did something happen?’ Phichit asked, that heavy weight of worry coming back. It gave the words a serious note he felt they were both too tired to deal with it.

‘No. Yes. I don't want to talk about it.’

‘Okay,’ Phichit said, squeezing Yuuri to himself for a moment. Feeling the hot breath of Yuuri’s mouth against his neck as the idiot got comfortable. ‘But you're only getting away with this because I'm tired. Got it?’ 

Yuuri said nothing. Phichit squeezed him again. 

‘Hey, got it?’

‘I'm asleep,’ Yuuri threw back at him and Phichit pouted down at Yuuri for turning his own words against him, not that Yuuri could see it so while it was a wasted effort, it was the thought that counted and Phichit continued anyway. When Phichit tried poking Yuuri to give him some space, (as Yuuri had somehow managed to take up the entirety of Phichit’s bed), Yuuri just wound himself tighter, sticking a leg between Phichit’s so to further entangle himself.  
  
‘Ow,’ Phichit grunted as Yuuri kneed him right in the crotch in his efforts to apparently crawl under Phichit’s pyjamas. And he was still cold, god typical. He shoved a hand at Yuuri’s shoulder, to no avail. ‘You need to get your leg off my dick before you cut it off. Cute as you are, you’re not my type.’  
  
‘I’m everyone’s type,’ Yuuri muttered into Phichit’s neck, sounding very petulant about it. Phichit laughed, unable to stop himself at the sound of Yuuri’s muffled sulking.  
  
‘Whatever. Get your big head onto your own pillow,’ Phichit teased shifting himself a little out from under Yuuri’s weight and turning on his side. Yuuri sidled up behind him, arms around his waist and his head buried between Phichit’s shoulder blades. Phichit let the weight of them sink into the bed, pulling the blanket tight around the small space they’d created for themselves.  
  
_Morning,_ Phichit thought as he felt the sleep he’d been so rudely interrupted in having creep in around him in the dark. If something was wrong, which Phichit suspected, they’d talk about it in the morning. Phichit wasn’t going to let Yuuri get away with anything less, even if he had to tear down whatever defences Yuuri inevitably put up himself. Lying in bed, listening to the quiet of Yuuri’s breathing behind him, Phichit could practically hear the gears of Yuuri’s mind turning.  
  
Probably already had an escape plan for the conversation sorted out. Phichit tried to look at Yuuri over his shoulder, but Yuuri was bundled too low down and the room was too dark from the angle of the wall. Well, Phichit wasn’t going to let him. Not this time. This time, they were going to get it right.

 

* * *

  
Something was wrong. Phichit knew it the moment he went into the kitchen.  
  
Phichit’s alarm had gone off at 7:00AM, not that he could he truly hear it as Yuuri’s moans of complaint were much louder. Yuuri had rolled over to his own side of the bed sometime during the night and he had shoved his head beneath one of Phichit’s pillows as Phichit awkwardly reached over to try and fish his phone up from the bedside cabinet. He’d stayed buried beneath the duvet as Phichit scrambled over him to get ready for his run.  
  
‘Want to come?’ Phichit had asked, modesty saved as he got changed by Yuuri’s mission to apparently cover himself in as much bedding as possible. The grunt he got in response was about everything Phichit had been expecting. Yuuri was really not a morning person.  
  
Phichit had run his full length and back, stopping at the Starbucks on the corner after to get himself a tall iced tea, (so not to undo his hard work), and a large white chocolate mocha with whipped cream for his flatmate, (to definitely undo any hard work Yuuri might be doing). Phichit had been preparing himself though. He was going to get the truth out of Yuuri this time, whether he liked it or not. This seemed a suitable bribe to get Yuuri on his side first.  
  
But now, as Phichit set the drinks down on the island of their kitchen, he felt an unusual nervousness come over him. Yuuri still wasn’t up, which was fine. Phichit figured he probably had jet-lag, at the very least. Phichit fidgeted with the straw of Yuuri’s Starbucks. But Yuuri’s phone was sitting on the island, abandoned.  
  
That… wasn’t so fine.  
  
Despite having zero interest in social media, (for as it turned out good reason), Yuuri had always been addicted to his phone. Phichit even used to tease him about being worse for it than he himself was. Yuuri was never seen without one, whether it be personal or his work one. Never went to bed without his own either. And Phichit knew Yuuri didn’t bring his work one with him to bed last night. So…  
  
It was all the confirmation Phichit needed that something wasn’t right.  
  
He deliberated for a few moments. He could go and wake Yuuri up, that was his initial plan on getting the iced coffee. But instead, Phichit reached out across the island and took Yuuri’s phone in hand. The lockscreen illuminated from the tilt and Phichit’s stomach dropped.  
  
_Victor (3) - 不在着信_ _  
_ _5_ _新しいメッセージ  - Victor_ _  
_ _  
_ Yuuri was ignoring Victor. He had to be. No way Yuuri would leave his phone out here unless he really, really didn’t want to look at it. And Phichit hadn’t meant to pry- not really! Not his fault the phone lit up. But those were a lot of missed calls, even more texts. Phichit tried not to feel too uneasy. He’d left more messages than that to Yuuri at a time. But there was something _off_ about the whole thing. Something chipping away until Phichit was left with a very narrow edge.

Yuuri had crawled seemingly straight into Phichit’s bed last night after coming home. Phichit knew it from the way Yuuri had left his bags by the couch, further now by his phone in the kitchen. The calls were from hours ago. Before Yuuri got home. He’d done it deliberately. Instead of answering Victor’s calls, Yuuri had decided to get into Phichit’s bed and sleep.  
  
Which was fine, Phichit didn’t mind Yuuri sleeping in his bed. But Yuuri rarely did so. Phichit felt like he had all the right pieces, but he was struggling to put them together in a way that made sense.  
  
It didn’t work out.  
  
That’s what Yuuri had said the night before when Phichit had asked him about Moscow. But he’d stayed for the full three days- that wasn’t right, was it? If something went wrong, Yuuri would’ve come home. Phichit ran his thumb up and down the screen of Yuuri’s phone, blurring the notifications as he did so, trying to think it over. The ice in his tea was almost completely melted now. Yuuri would’ve been able to come home when he wanted to, right?  
  
Phichit looked at the phone again. Was three calls a lot? Phichit wasn’t sure. He would’ve said no, if Yuuri and Victor were dating. But they weren’t, not as far as Phichit knew. Yuuri did mention in his text that Phichit had been close in calling Victor a boyfriend- but Phichit hadn’t heard from Yuuri since then. He had chalked it down to the business of the competition, the excitement of being with Victor. He had tried not to worry.  
  
Phichit wondered now if he had been wrong not to worry.  
  
Yuuri had gone from practically calling Victor his boyfriend to now ignoring his calls. Something had to have happened. Phichit liked Victor though. Okay, he seemed a bit mental, Phichit couldn’t deny. But not mental in a bad way. Or Phichit wouldn’t have thought so. He looked at the phone again. Five text messages. That was kind of a lot to send, if someone wasn’t getting back.  
  
And Victor had come to the party that day after Skate America, their flat before then. That wasn’t normal, for what Phichit understood of Yuuri and his job. Phichit had assumed Yuuri had invited him, that was the impression Yuuri always gave. Phichit put the phone down onto the countertop, stomach churning with nerves. It wouldn’t be out of character for Yuuri to have bent the truth, Phichit thought to himself bitterly.  
  
Phichit called Celestino, told him he wouldn’t be able to come to training today. Celestino didn’t even scold him, telling Phichit he’d been pushing too hard lately, was looking so glum. A rest day would do him good. Phichit went for a shower after that; washed his hair with Yuuri’s ridiculous designer shampoo.

He picked up Yuuri’s old Wayne University hoodie from the back of the bathroom door. It didn't smell like Yuuri anymore.  
  
In the end, Phichit decided not to wake Yuuri. He was probably jet-lagged and Phichit wanted Yuuri as coherent as possible. Didn’t want to give Yuuri any easy outs or excuses. Phichit put Yuuri’s drink in the fridge, hoping the cream would hold shape before sitting himself down on the couch. He watched Netflix on the television, scrolled through Instagram. But nothing filtered through. Instead, Phichit thought over in his head how exactly he was going to broach the topic with Yuuri at all.  
  
Yuuri finally roused a little after two in the afternoon. Late, even for Yuuri standards. Phichit wondered idly as he heard movement down the hall, if Yuuri had been hiding out in Phichit’s room on purpose. Yuuri padded down into the living space, still dressed in his now crumpled grey t-shirt and dark shorts. Phichit smiled at him as Yuuri put his glasses on.  
  
‘Finally decided to join the land of the living, huh?’

‘Shouldn’t you be at tra- _ah-_ training?’ Yuuri replied, a yawn splitting the word in two. He stretched his arms above his head, eyes squinting shut as he did so. Phichti scrunched his nose. Yuuri’s cheeks looked red. Why were they red? Had he been crying?  
  
‘Day off,’ Phichit said as Yuuri walked past him where he was sitting and into the kitchen. ‘There’s Starbucks in the fridge.’  
  
Yuuri paused at that, glancing over his shoulder for a moment before he stepped up to the fridge. He opened the door, look of realisation crossing his features as he reached in and took out the cup. Looked like the cream actually had held shape. Phichit made a note of that for later.  
  
‘You know I shouldn’t have this,’ Yuuri said but he was already taking the straw into his mouth. Phichit grinned, trying to ignore how quickly his heart was starting to beat as Yuuri moved around their kitchen, bare feet on the tile. Phichit had left Yuuri’s phone on the counter. Yuuri hadn’t even looked at it.  
  
Yuuri walked right past his phone instead, back into the living space and onto the other end of the couch. He folded his knees up in front of him so not to be intruding on Phichit’s space, eyes closed sleepily as he drank from the straw of his Starbucks. Phichit watched him for a short while, giving Yuuri the chance to get his bearings. And giving himself the same opportunity to try and navigate how to start the conversation. When he still found himself unsure, Phichit decided to just go for it. He disconnected his phone from the cast, knowing Yuuri was watching him.  
  
‘Tell me about Moscow,’ he said firmly, watching as Yuuri’s shoulders stiffened. He put his phone on the coffee table, face down. So Yuuri would know how serious he was.  
  
‘What about it?’ Yuuri replied blandly, eyes focused on the dripping condensation of his drink. His fingers were shaking a little. It was probably too cold really for such a thing, but Phichit had been so warm after his run. He wondered if he should go turn the heater back on to help Yuuri heat up. But Phichit didn’t move, gaze focused on Yuuri’s dark lashes as he avoided Phichit’s eye.  
  
‘Try everything,’ Phichit replied and Yuuri busied himself with trying to dismantle the cream on the top of his drink with the straw. Prodding it awkwardly. ‘Your phone’s been ringing.’  
  
It was not strictly speaking a lie. It did ring, once. When Phichit was halfway through his rewatch of Cowboy BeBop. But Yuuri froze instantly, entire body going tense and Phichit readjusted himself on the couch so he was folded up too, facing Yuuri head on. Yuuri looked up at Phichit over his Starbucks, sitting further back like he might try and shrink behind his knees. Phichit played with the hem of his hoodie, determined.

‘Oh?’ Was all Yuuri had to say to that.  
  
‘Why are you ignoring your phone?’ Phichit asked bluntly and Yuuri looked away, brown eyes catching the afternoon light. Phichit always liked Yuuri’s eyes. They were they were so expressive, yet revealed nothing. It was beautiful on the ice, despite how hard it proved to be facing it at home.  
  
‘I’m not.’  
  
‘You are,’ Phichit pressed, not willing to just let Yuuri deflect everything like he always did. ‘What happened in Moscow? With Victor?’

‘I told you,’ Yuuri said, tone clipped and eyes meeting Phichit’s in wooden stubbornness. Phichit tried not to snap at Yuuri’s predictable turn to the defensive. ‘It didn't work out.’

‘What does that even mean?’ Phichit asked rolling his wrist, sincerity undercut with obvious frustration. Yuuri frowned at him, leaning over the couch edge to put his half-drunk frappacino on the coffee table. Phichit watched the movement of it, watched the way Yuuri’s fingers shone with the water left behind.

‘It means it just didn't work out,’ Yuuri replied and Phichit groaned aloud in frustration.

‘Don't try that shit,’ Phichit said tersely and Yuuri started, shoulders jumping up as his eyes widened. Phichit stared back, refusing to back down. ‘Victor’s been calling. And you've been ignoring him. Why?’

Yuuri didn't say anything. He just watched Phichit with his stupid doe-eyes, cheeks pale. That innocent look may have swayed Phichit in the past but Phichit knew better. He knew what Yuuri was really capable of now. But still his heart ached when Yuuri crossed his arms, fingers digging into the muscles of his biceps. Phichit had seen this a hundred times before. Phichit leaned forward, tucking his legs under him to get more momentum. He perched himself on Yuuri’s knees, reaching out for Yuuri’s hands. He held one each, refusing to let Yuuri fall away into himself.

‘Talk to me,’ Phichit said quietly as Yuuri looked away from him. Phichit laced their fingers together on both hands, relieved when Yuuri just let him do it. Even after all this time, it was still hard for Yuuri to let go like that. Phichit knew him so well now, knew Yuuri’s first instinct was to hide. To hurt. Phichit wouldn't let him. ‘Did something happen?’

‘No, I- I just…’ Yuuri’s word died off, eyes downcast still and Phichit realised with terrible clarity that Yuuri had been crying his bed. Phichit was a bad friend. He should've checked on him. Phichit squeezed Yuuri’s hands, trying not to let his full weight rest on Yuuri’s knees. ‘I'm not sure how to say it.’

‘Start from the beginning?’ Phichit suggested but Yuuri just shook his head. Phichit didn't know what that meant. ‘Okay. Why are you ignoring Victor? He's been trying to call you.’

‘I don't want to speak to him,’ Yuuri admitted softly but Phichit could've guessed that much.

‘Why not?’ he asked gently, leaning back so to look at Yuuri better. He didn't let go of Yuuri’s hands. Phichit swallowed stiffly, dread coming together in with heavy certainty. ‘Did Victor do something?’

Yuuri looked at Phichit from beneath his lashes. Body tense. Phichit was half convinced that if he let Yuuri go he'd bolt. ‘Like what?’

Phichit knew this dance. It was a Yuuri favourite. Get out of admitting what was wrong because Phichit hadn't guessed _exactly_ what it was first from Yuuri’s vague ruminations. Phichit licked his lips nervously, squeezed Yuuri’s hands. The questions had been rolling around in the back of Phichit’s head for hours now. Questions Phichit really didn’t want to ask- not Yuuri, not about Victor Nikiforov of all people. But if Yuuri needed help, Phichit was going to give it.  
  
‘The other day, ‘ Phichit started, trying to keep his voice even. ‘You nearly called Victor your boyfriend. You went to Moscow to try and work things out with him, I know you did. But now you’re not even looking at your phone. You’re ignoring his calls. So I know that something happened.’  
  
Phichit waited. He swallowed around his nerves as Yuuri kept looking down, tucking his chin into himself. Always trying to be smaller. Phichit tugged on Yuuri’s hands, resting their linked fingers on to the top of Yuuri’s knees.  
  
‘So what was it?’ Phichit asked, rubbing a soothing circle with his thumb over Yuuri’s knuckles. Yuuri closed his eyes, mouth pressed shut. Phichti felt his gut swoop with fear. A thousand worst case scenarios running through his head, fed by all the things he knew about Yuuri’s work that Yuuri had told him not to worry about. ‘Yuuri, if Victor did something, I need you to tell me.’  
  
‘It’s not like that,’ Yuuri replied meekly after a while and Phichit tried not to groan in frustration when Yuuri didn’t continue.  
  
‘Then what’s it like?’ he pressed, but Yuuri just looked away. Eyes unfocused and staring towards the shifting screensavers on the television screen. Phichit tilted his head, knees going numb beneath his weight as he tried to get Yuuri’s attention. A siren wailed outside, traffic honking. ‘Yuuri, if Victor hurt you-’  
  
‘I said it’s not like that!’ Yuuri snapped suddenly, hands snatching out from under Phichit’s. Yuuri was looking at Phichit now, eyes wide and the brown of them dark in challenge. Phichit bit his tongue, gut-reaction of sarcasm being swallowed. Instead, he took a breath. Steadied himself.  
  
‘I know you like him,’ Phichit said slowly, watching Yuuri for any signs of him running. He took his hands back, careful not to touch. Phichit tried to keep his tone neutral, despite the uneasiness brewing inside of him. ‘And he seemed like a nice guy. But I know you’re keeping something from me. I know Victor is involved.’  
  
Yuuri wrapped his arms back around himself and despite really wanting to, Phichit didn’t stop him as he held on too tight.  
  
‘I can’t help you unless you let me in, Yuuri,’ Phichit said, hoping it didn’t sound as desperate out loud as it did in his head. Yuuri glanced at Phichit, glasses tilting. ‘So, please. Just tell me what’s wrong.’  
  
For a while, Yuuri just watched Phichit right back across the couch. He tugged on his bottom lip, teeth ivory corners as he did so. Then, Yuuri just stopped. He seemed frozen for a moment, before he rolled his shoulders back. Let himself go. His eyes slipped down as he took a deep breath, swinging his legs around so to sit on the couch properly. Yuuri stared straight ahead, hands holding the edge of the couch.

‘I thought...’ Yuuri said, before stopping. He bit his lip again, sucked in his cheek as he seemed to mull over something. Phichit waited. ‘I thought it was something it wasn't. I wanted it to work out. But it couldn't.’

Phichit didn't say anything, but the urge to do so anyway ate at him. Yuuri’s words did nothing to soothe the fear Phichit had, the anxious swell in his stomach as he tried not to dwell of the implications of what Yuuri was saying. But nothing Yuuri said really cleared anything up. If anything, it only made Phichit more nervous.  
  
‘What was it? If it wasn’t what you expected?’ he tried, tiptoeing around the question he really wanted to ask. Yuuri kept staring out across the living room, like he was lost in his own thoughts.  
  
‘We just weren’t as suited as I’d hoped,’ he said quietly, almost a whisper. ‘I thought it’d... Stupid. I was stupid. I thought it would be easy, that I could be something I wasn’t.’ Yuuri laughed but it was empty. ‘So stupid.’  
  
‘So, it’s over? Between you and Victor?’ Phichit asked, not entirely understanding what Yuuri was saying. Yuuri nodded tightly, jaw firm as he pursed his lips together.  
  
Phichit looked at his own phone, face down on the table. He thought of the photos he still had, of the open smile on Yuuri’s face and the way he sank into Victor’s body like it was something he always wished to. Thought of the sweater Yuuri had kept. Remembered Yuuri pulling at Victor’s shirt, drunk and stumbling when they’d come home from the after-party of Skate America. How Victor had held his hands, trying to explain that it was probably best Yuuri went to bed. The look of concern in Victor’s eyes then. His look of question to Phichit when Yuuri refused to go to bed without Victor at least joining him to sleep. Phichit had thought him nice then. Kind, if surprisingly awkward.  
  
The uneasy feeling inside of him didn’t shift one bit.  
  
‘Why is Victor calling you?’ he asked carefully, looking to Yuuri’s face again. Trying to watch it, like he could somehow see what Yuuri was thinking. For five years Phichit had tried such a thing and even now, he still couldn’t do it. Yuuri’s thoughts still as buried as they always were. ‘If it ended, then he shouldn’t be calling you.’  
  
‘It’s complicated.’  
  
Phichit’s heart sank.  
  
‘You haven’t told him’ he realised and Yuuri’s cheeks flushed, eyes closing and Phichit knew shame when he saw it. Had been with Yuuri long enough to recognise at least that, caught Yuuri on one too many hangovers. ‘You’ve broken up with him and you haven’t even told him you did it.’  
  
‘I didn’t break up with him. We were never together,’ Yuuri replied, a little too quickly. Phichit tsked derisively before he could stop himself, nerves eating away at the last of his patience.  
  
‘But why? I know you liked him. You really liked him,’ he said and Yuuri just shook his head slowly. Phichit resituated himself, mirroring Yuuri and moving closer. He just restrained himself from reaching out. ‘Yuuri, I don’t want to push you. But there’s more you’re not telling me. You were head over heels for Victor not even a full week ago. I _know_ those feelings don’t just go away. Not unless something very serious happened to change your mind.’  
  
‘Victor found out!’ Yuuri blurted suddenly, taking Phichit by surprise. He turned to face Phichit, face unusually blank. He looked down, fingers drumming along the edge of the couch. ‘Victor found out about Sochi. He learned the truth. About me. And once he found out it just.. It became clear that being together was not something we could do.’  
  
‘What do you mean?’ Phichit asked, confused. Yuuri bit his lip once before continuing.  
  
‘He wasn’t happy I had lied to him. And he decided- he... ‘ Yuuri looked away, voice trailing away and Phichit noticed that his eyes were shining now. ‘It ended. I couldn’t keep working with him after that. And that’s all there is to it.’  
  
Yuuri shrugged, like it was nothing. Like his heart hadn’t just been broken. But Phichit could see it now. Could see the tears Yuuri was refusing to shed and the way his lip trembled, no matter how much Yuuri tried to hold it steady with his teeth. Phichit reached out, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, pulling Yuuri against him. Yuuri shook slightly as he tried not give himself over to the cry he desperately needed. Phichit kissed the top of his head.  
  
So that was it. Victor found out the truth, like Phichit knew he would. Only he hadn’t reacted the way Phichit had thought he was bound to. Phichit had been hoping, perhaps naively, that Victor would accept this part of Yuuri as much as the other parts he’d seen. The parts Phichit felt were worth more than number in dollars. Looking at Yuuri now, Phichit guessed what Victor did once he found out the truth. Anger flared hot as Phichit held onto Yuuri. Victor Nikiforov may be a world champion, but as far as Phichit was concerned, he was a world class _asshole._ _  
_ _  
_ ‘He’s a jerk, Yuuri,’ Phichit said, knowing it probably wasn’t helpful but it made Phichit feel better to get it out anyway. ‘If he can’t see how great you are beneath all the- the designer shirts and shit, then he doesn’t deserve you. The best you is the real one, and if Victor fucking Nikiforov can’t see that, then fuck him.’  
  
Phichit wasn’t one for swearing. He didn’t have quite the embargo that Yuuri did, but he always thought English had a way of sounding infinitely more vulgar than any other language managed. Yuuri seemed to surrender himself to the tears as he heard Phichit go on though. Perhaps the vulgarity had been a bit much, but soon Yuuri was sobbing. He wrapped his arms around Phichit’s waist, cheeks hot against Phichit’s shoulder through the thick fabric of their hoodie.  
  
‘I’m going to kill him,’ Phichit said and he jumped when Yuuri laughed wetly against him, hiccuping through the tears.  
  
‘No, you’re not,’ he muttered into Phichit’s neck and Phichit just pouted down at him.  
  
‘Yeah. I am,’ Phichit said as seriously as he could manage. He squeezed Yuuri against him. ‘I’m going to beat the crap out of him.’  
  
‘He’s Victor Nikiforov.’  
  
‘I don’t give a _fu_ \- flipping hamster who he is,’ Phichit ranted, just stopping himself from colouring the air any further and Yuuri sniffled against him. Phichit felt so angry, though he knew Yuuri should be coming first. He kissed Yuuri again, resting his cheek against Yuuri’s head. ‘Next time I see him, I’m going to punch him. Or at least hit him with my skates, or something.’  
  
‘He’s like two feet taller than you,’ Yuuri said, breaking away to rub at his wet nose and cheeks. Phichit scoffed.  
  
‘I’ll use a stool,’ he suggested and Yuuri laughed again. He watched as Yuuri tried to gather himself up again, watched as Yuuri wiped his face clean like he was wiping away the misery. That was Yuuri all over really. Never letting anything sit too long. Phichit reached out and patted Yuuri’s shoulder gently. Yuuri closed his eyes, smiling sadly as Phichit did so.  
  
They both jumped as Yuuri’s phone started buzzing from the counter. Vibrating in quick succession; ringing. Yuuri froze, eyes open in panic and hands clutched to his chest. Phichit didn’t move either, just listening with Yuuri as the phone shuddered along the counter as they left the call go unanswered. As it kept going, Phichit scowled. Forget the stool, he was going to chop Nikiforov off at the knees and punch whatever he could get his hands on.  
  
‘Why is he calling you if he dumped you?’ Phichit asked blindly, wincing when he realised what he said. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean-’  
  
‘No, it’s fine,’ Yuuri replied quietly, eyes focused on the kitchen. He sounded distant. Retreating away into himself again, where Phichit couldn’t reach him. ‘I don’t know.’  
  
‘Aren’t you curious?’ Phichit said as Yuuri stood up in one graceful motion. He watched as Yuuri walked over to the kitchen, picking his phone up as the ringing stopped in his hand. Maybe he even hung up. Yuuri sighed, flicking his thumb over the screen, face dry.  
  
‘No,’ he said firmly, phone reflected in his glasses. ‘I made a decision. I need to stick with it.’  
  
‘Okay,’ Phichit said but he wasn’t sure about that. Not that he felt Victor deserved Yuuri’s time or anything. Because he very obviously didn’t. But Phichit couldn’t help but be curious, even if Yuuri wasn’t. (Some terribly nice part of him, that Phichit was stubbornly ignoring, thought Victor might even be calling to apologise. Which he should be, really). ‘But he shouldn’t keep calling you like this. You should tell him to piss off, at the very least.’  
  
‘In situations like this, it’s best to just let him call,’ Yuuri replied, putting the phone down onto the counter, face solemn. ‘Just cut the client off altogether. Block him, if I have to. Trust me, it’s easier.’  
  
Phichit frowned, standing up and crossing his arms. The sleeves of the hoodie bunched up around him, grey fabric bundled. The thing was too big for Yuuri, definitely too big for Phichit. Right now, Phichit felt swamped in Yuuri’s presence and yet paradoxically like he was sitting on the other side of some veil. Distantly, he remembered something Yuuri had mentioned before he left for Moscow in the first place. Phichit shifted from one foot to the other as he flinched from the shame of the fight they’d had last time, but the memory stuck anyway.  
  
_He’s not the first client to get confused,_ Yuuri had said.  
  
‘You’ve done this before,’ Phichit said. Statement, not question. Yuuri turned his back to Phichit, walking over towards the kettle at the corner of the kitchen countertop. Phichit walked after him, into the kitchen. ‘Ignored someone like this. You’ve blocked a client before.’  
  
‘Yes,’ Yuuri replied curtly, taking the kettle up in his hands and leaning over to the sink to fill it. Phichit leant against the edge of the island, glancing down at Yuuri’s phone. Face down now, blue poodles staring back up at him from the phone-case. Yuuri turned on the tap, filling the kettle.  
  
‘What happened?’  
  
‘It was ages ago,’ Yuuri said and Phichit worried that that was all he was going to get, but then Yuuri turned off the tap, snapped the top of the kettle back in place and turned to face Phichit. He rested against the countertop, watching Phichit very carefully. Kettle held in both hands. ‘Do you really want to hear about this?’  
  
Phichit knew why Yuuri was asking, knew he deserved it. Still hurt though for Yuuri to think that he had check Phichit’s sensitivities before sharing something with him. Phichit nodded, determined and even attempted to smile. ‘Yes. I’d like you to tell me.’  
  
Yuuri watched him for a few moments, before he moved to replace the kettle and turn it on. He kept his eyes on it as he crossed his arms, body defensive already. Phichit resisted the urge to step forward, instead wanting to give Yuuri space to feel comfortable. The kitchen filled with the low wheeze of the kettle heating up.  
  
‘I was still with the agency when I was seeing him,’ Yuuri said, voice quiet. Almost like he was trying to hide it over the hum of the kettle. Phichit took a step forward as Yuuri cleared his throat. ‘Mark Thorton was his name. Some accountant, from outside of the city. He was a pretty normal guy, but…’  
  
Yuuri stopped, tightening his grip around himself as the kettle clicked, finishing it’s boil. Phichit guessed that Yuuri had intended to make tea; he always made tea when he was upset. But Yuuri didn’t move, didn’t even look up from whatever space in the wall he was beginning to unsee. Phichit tugged the sleeves of the hoodie over his hands, just for something to do while he waited.  
  
‘He couldn’t pay,’ Yuuri said at last, mouth twitching around the words and Phichit realised why Yuuri had paused. He was worried Phichit would judge him. Shame and sympathy tied together inside of him, a tough rope that strung up his heart as he watched his friend shift nervously on his feet. ‘So, the agency dropped him. And I stopped seeing him. I didn’t think anything of it, it happens, you know? But he wouldn’t stop calling me and I would answer, try to explain to him that we couldn’t see each other anymore. Be nice about it.’

  
Yuuri ran a hand through his hair, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. Phichit clenched his fists, protectiveness roaring to life inside of him. He wanted to hug Yuuri, tell him that whatever happened it wasn’t his fault. But he didn’t, knowing that he had to let Yuuri work through everything he wanted to tell him first.  
  
‘He just couldn’t accept it,’ Yuuri whispered in the quiet of their kitchen, going up to his tip-toes and down again. Ballet grace, like always. Yuuri laughed nervously, a hollow sound and Phichit’s fists got tighter. ‘He wanted to leave his wife. It was… crazy. He just was so convinced that it was real, no matter what I told him. I had to get a new number.’  
  
‘What happened?’ Phichit asked, not entirely sure what he was expecting. His gut wanted this guy found and locked up somewhere, but the way Yuuri was smiling at him tentatively suggested that Yuuri knew that, and it wasn’t the answer Phichit was going to get.  
  
‘I just ignored him,’ Yuuri said, shrugging his shoulders again like what he was saying was no big deal at all. Phichit frowned at him. ‘It was all I could do. I could hardly report him for anything.’  
  
‘And he just left you alone?’ Phichit pressed, dubious. Something flashed across Yuuri’s face.    
  
‘Ah, no. Not at first, anyway,’ Yuuri admitted in a mumbled breath and Phichit hadn’t considered anyone he wanted to hit more than Victor Nikiforov, but Mark Thorton wherever the fuck he was, was certainly fast out passing him. Yuuri crossed his arms again. ‘Do you remember your accident in sophmore year? I was late, getting to the hospital. It was because Hannah called me. Last minute, needed me to cover a client.’  
  
Yuuri stopped talking suddenly, biting his lip again. He took a breath and continued.  
  
‘And it was Mark,’ Yuuri said, clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes to the ceiling. ‘He’d reached out to her, asked her to switch with me. She didn’t know- she can’t have, I didn’t tell anyone except our madam. But when I got there, he tried to convince me to stay. Said he didn’t understand how I went from taking his calls to ignoring him and it was… It was just really ugly. Then I got the call about you and- that was the last time I ever saw him. He tried to make me stay, but I wouldn’t. And that was that.’  
  
Yuuri opened his arms, as if gesturing to his horrendous story like it were something Phichit could hold. Phichit wished it was. It wanted to take all those awful things from Yuuri and toss them as far away from him as possible, like he might undo any of the damage done. Phichit took another step towards Yuuri as Yuuri patted his hands against his thighs, shaking his head.  
  
‘I was so angry at her,’ Yuuri said, more to himself it seemed but Phichit went over to him anyway. He leaned against the counter, front to Yuuri’s side and wrapped a hand around Yuuri’s shoulder. He held on tight, pulling Yuuri flush to him and holding him there.

  
They were silent for a while, the sound of traffic outside and Yuuri’s steady breathing. Phichit held him as Yuuri slowly started to unravel, like Phichit had suspected he would. Yuuri’s shoulders shook, tears coming again though he tried to stop them. Phichit said nothing, just held on until Yuuri turned back into him, hugging him back properly. Yuuri was taller, it was obvious at times like this. But Phichit went up on his tip-toes, trying to take as much of Yuuri’s weight as possible.  
  
‘Victor was-’ Yuuri stopped, voice thick with tears and emotion. Phichit rubbed his back, bunching the fabric of his t-shirt as he did so. ‘I really liked him.’  
  
‘I know, I know,’ Phichit whispered as Yuuri tangled his hands up in the hoodie, tugging Phichit closer. He cursed, low and Japanese. Phichit shushed gently, letting himself get pulled at.  
  
‘I had to make a decision,’ Yuuri sobbed and Phichit rested his cheek against Yuuri’s. Feeling the wet and heat there against his own skin. Felt the arm of Yuuri’s glasses pinch him. ‘I had to, it was the only way to- to keep it all together.’  
  
‘It’s okay, Yuuri,’ Phichit said, pulling away to look up at Yuuri. He looked straight into Yuuri’s eyes, watched the brown of them swim in the tears. Phichit smiled, squeezing Yuuri where he was touching him. ‘Whatever you decided, it was the right decision.’  
  
Yuuri blinked at him for a few moments, lip bitten red and cheeks tinted. He was looking over Phichit’s face, never settling. Phichit waited, waited for Yuuri to find whatever it was he was looking for.  
  
‘I know it was,’ he whispered and Phichit smiled, slowing pulling away and reaching up to wipe Yuuri’s cheeks with the sleeves of his own hoodie. The hem going dark with tears.  
  
The phone didn’t ring again for the rest of the day. And Yuuri didn’t look at it either. Instead, he sat curled up on the couch with Phichit and armed with a cup of tea. He didn’t say much, but Phichit felt like that was fair. Phichit was so angry at Nikiforov it would render him silent whenever he dwelled on it too much, but it would have to wait. Looking after Yuuri came first. As Phichit opened Instagram, he searched through his followers. When he found Nikiforov, he removed him quickly before he could think any better of it. Probably should never have added him in the first place.  
  
They spend the day watching Netflix, Phichit filling Yuuri in with the latest gossip from their uni friends and other rink-mates. Yuuri didn’t talk much, but he nodded along to all of Phichit’s stories which was more than Phichit could ask for really. Yuuri had already made Phichit’s entire week, if not month, with his honesty. After so long being lied to, even if Yuuri thought he’d been protecting him, it felt good to know Yuuri was trusting him now.  
  
‘Phichit,’ Yuuri said sometime after ten, about five minutes into their next episode of _Suits_ and over a pizza. Phichit looked over, keeping his grip on N̂ảtāl who was currently trying to squirm his way to freedom from Phichit’s hand. Yuuri was watching him owlishly, eyes round and smile just to the left of melancholy. ‘You’re my best-friend, you know that? Yeah?’  
  
‘Yeah,’ Phichit grinned, guiding N̂ảtāl into his other hand in order to keep some control over the furry monster. ‘Yeah, I do.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bliad - whore/fuck  
> starik - geezer/old man  
> Nu vse, tebe pizda - that's it, you're fucking dead  
> Ahueyet - what the fuck  
> Den'gi v Amerike - the money in America  
> Ya durak - I'm a fool


	14. Set Your Sail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Victor (gets some character development) makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otvali - piss off  
> Vse khorosho? - all is good?  
> Radi boga - for god's sake
> 
> For my friends, my readers and the packet of paracetamol next to me ♡

The same thing always struck Victor when he came back home to Saint Petersburg and it was the quiet.  
  
It was what had greeted him when he arrived back at his own apartment, Makkachin still with the kennels. Victor had stood in the white walls of his life that first night, Russian snow turning to damp on his shoulders and wondered if Yuuri’s afternoons in Detroit carried such silence to them.  
  
(Wondered- worried that maybe Yuuri would prefer it if they did).

Competitions were a buzz of zippers and suitcases, the echo of announcements and aeroplane boardings in crowded spaces. Competitive rinks were always a chorus; shouting, blades and zambonis. But now, as Victor cooled down by circling laps in his designated corner of his home rink, he felt the murmuring quiet push against him in a way the noise of competing never did. It was late now, the rink slowly emptying as everyone wound down. Victor skated without music, as to use music would be to use his phone, and Victor was not doing that.  
  
As doing that would just show him his empty messages and thus keep reminding him that it had been over a week and he still hadn’t heard from Yuuri.  
  
Victor was trying not to worry about it. _Trying_ being the operative word as it was a constant struggle against the sick, cloying feeling that something was wrong. Not that Victor had any evidence for thinking something might be so, but he had nothing to suggest everything was alright either.

Except for one curt message from Phichit; who’d clearly taken pity on Victor after he’d been pestering the kid on Twitter for almost an hour the day Yuuri flew back to Detroit. His reply to let Victor know if Yuuri was alright came just before Victor devolved into a complete panic and started to ring whatever hospitals were in Detroit.  
  
_He’s home safe,_ was all Phichit had said before ignoring anything Victor had tried sending him further. After that, Victor had attempted once, every hour, to try and call Yuuri again. And every time, at every hour, the phone rang out until Victor got the automatic voicemail message. Over and over, the closest Victor got to hearing from Yuuri was the dull tone of his voice, wearing American like a shirt, asking Victor to leave a message.  
  
Which Victor had, at first. But after the fourth day, Victor stopped leaving messages. Stopped calling, because Yuuri just wasn't answering. The reason why sat like a coal that just wouldn't burn. Heavy, dark and nothing Victor threw its way seemed to crack it, as no matter what angle Victor looked at it, he couldn't rationalise a way around it. Couldn't think of a  _why_ for Yuuri to be this way, not when they had been so close in Moscow. Not when Victor had had his arms around Yuuri, his reckless affection running riot because wasn't that just Victor all over?  
  
So instead, Victor switched to texts. Just one, a day. Difficult as it was, Victor forced himself to limit. He couldn't just- he wouldn't just  _give up._ Not on Yuuri, it wasn't an option. He reached out the only way left to him and Victor would see the receipts of Yuuri reading his messages, but never replying. Victor didn't know what to make of such a thing, sitting in the dark of his empty apartment, occasionally firing back furiously  _I know you're there, tell me what's wrong._  
  
Yuuri never replied. And the more it went on, the more the days spread in silence through November, Victor was just forced to accept that maybe Yuuri just didn’t want to speak to him. It was only then, sitting on his bed in his empty apartment after a week or so, did Victor realise just how used he’d become to the sound of Yuuri being in his life. Without the tinny echo of his voice on speaker, or the cheerful chirps of text, Victor’s walls spread wide like a chasm with Victor sitting in the centre alone.  
  
Saint Petersburg’s quiet had swallowed around him that first night he came back and now he sat deep in the stomach of it, wondering how exactly to move forward without Yuuri there to guide him.  
  
It had been just nearing ten days since Victor’s win in Moscow and already Yakov was scolding him for being distracted. Victor found he couldn’t help it, however. Going over the routines just reminded him of when he’d last skated them, which brought his thoughts right back to Yuuri like the circles he glided through.

Victor had never had to think about someone other than himself while skating before and the situation was- well, he wouldn’t go so far as to say it was outright bad but it was uncomfortable to feel like skating was now something he was sharing with a person who didn’t seem to share it back.  
  
Victor felt like something was happening, that Yuuri was pushing off into the middle of something and Victor was blindly skimming the steep edge of it, waiting now for the inevitable drop. Victor rarely found himself in a situation like this. In his own memory, Victor could only think of one time before.  
  
But this wasn’t going to be like then. Yuuri was different.  
  
‘Make sure you stretch!’ Yakov bellowed from the awning, but Victor just ignored him. As he’d done for most of today’s practice. ‘You can’t afford to be lazy by hiding in laps!’  
  
_‘Da, da,’_ Victor replied, waving a hand generally in Yakov’s direction wondering why at twenty-seven years old he was being reminded to cool down properly. Victor avoided looking at Yakov, not wanting to see the unquestionable disapproval the man was no doubt sporting across his face.  
  
The approaching Grand Prix had somehow managed to make Yakov more solemn than usual- which was something Victor had thought impossible, yet since Moscow Yakov had managed to grow even more grave. Victor pursed his lips as he skated near the rink wall, self-consciousness rearing its head. Victor knew Yakov was likely seeing what Victor was feeling in his quads.  
  
A quiver, in the left knee. Every time he hit the ice surface over the last week. Blades clacking like bullets.  
  
Perhaps it was nothing. Or perhaps it was something. Victor was unsure if the gaping feeling he got at the thought of it was fear or relief. In the wake of it all, Victor hardly noticed himself the time passing without speaking to Yuuri, getting up at five and collapsing into bed at something closer to eight or nine. But during times like this, it crept in around him. Hollow and cold. The empty space Yuuri left, thawing out inside of him.  
  
Yakov knew he was distracted, likely knew why as well. The man always seemed to know what Victor was thinking with uncanny precision. It was incredibly frustrating and on occasion, mortifying. But Victor didn’t want to give Yakov any more ammunition against Yuuri, electing to throw himself into training as much as he could with the hope of keeping Yakov’s infamous scrutiny off Yuuri’s back. Victor wasn’t stupid and if there was one thing he could spot from a mile off, it was Yakov Feltsman’s disapproval.  
  
Any criticism Yakov would inevitably throw at his choices only made Victor more sure that he was making the right ones, but Victor also knew that the disapproval he garnered was earned and something he would have to explain to Yuuri someday, if Yuuri ever decided he wanted that.

Of course, Yuuri would have to speak to Victor first.

Victor flinched to himself, thoughts straying too close to the still raw memory of Yuuri and his absence. It turned at its corners, poking holes in Victor’s carefully managed resolve. Victor took a breath, clouding white before him and changed direction again. Tried not to notice how Yakov was following him with his eyes as strictly as if Victor were still training.  
  
Instead, Victor turned on his skate and looked out at the other end of the rink, hips canted in easy sweep. Yuri and Mila were skating together there, Mila grinning down at the teenager as he spoke up to her. Yuri was due a growth spurt in the next year, Victor thought idly. Mila would be the one looking up soon. They skated side by side, their practice long over as they echoed Victor now in winding down.  
  
Victor kept to his side of the rink, wondering what had triggered Yuri’s recent thaw. Sharing a rink with Yuri Plisetsky had always been something akin to a trial before, (and by _akin,_ Victor meant it was absolutely, one hundred percent a trial), but it seemed the approaching competition had tapered the punk’s sharp edges as Yuri seemed infinitely more amenable to Victor lately. He was almost listening to Victor’s advice over the last week, green eyes watching Victor himself as he’d turn in steady circles of demonstration. Victor had never had Yuri’s attention so well.  
  
‘No phone today?’ Yuri had asked Victor their first day at training since Moscow, cheeks red from warm-up when Victor had joined him on the ice. When Victor had shaken his head, throat thick with sudden misery, Yuri had given him a look that even now, Victor still thought about. Mouth thin, eyes wide. ‘Will you help me then?’  
  
Victor had never been more glad of a distraction.  
  
Once Yuuri hadn’t gotten back to him that first day and Phichit had been less than inviting, Victor decided to not push anymore and wait for Yuuri to decide. Through remarkable reservation on his part, even Victor would admit. The amount of times he caught himself from calling Yuuri a hundred times over, his thumb hovering over the Cyrillic of Yuuri’s name, before closing his phone stubbornly.

Victor knew from experience now that pushing too hard would just lead to Yuuri running more firmly in the other direction. Though even by Yuuri’s flighty standards, (which were low, much as Victor would be loathe to admit it), the radio silence he was emitting would probably have been a dealbreaker had Victor been even the smallest bit less invested.  
  
(Victor was terribly, perhaps carelessly invested).  
  
Much as Victor tried ignore it, the thought that Yuuri may be ignoring him for his work had crossed Victor’s mind. It sat inside him like a stone, jealousy growing around it with unpleasant nausea. But Victor pushed it from his mind, fought hard against the easy anger envy bred in him. That was another thing he had promised Yuuri and even if Victor’s patience was beginning to wear thin, his conviction in proving to Yuuri that Victor could be supportive no matter Yuuri's choices remained resolute.  
  
They’d made a decision to trust each other. And Victor was going to honour that, difficult as it was. Victor really didn’t tend to be a _wait and see_ kind of person, but Yuuri was a first for him in more ways than one. He had promised to be patient, promised Yuuri that he would try and Victor wanted more than anything to prove to Yuuri that he was worth it. That Victor was someone worth giving a chance to, a second chance even as it turned out.  
  
Yuuri was a... complicated person, as far as Victor knew. His choices confused Victor, his life not quite following a pattern Victor could follow and his emotions still turned around in curves that made Victor feel like everything he saw of Yuuri he was seeing from the wrong direction, like looking down the opposite end of a telescope.  
  
‘Oi!’ a voice snapped and Victor jumped in his skates, startled out his thoughts by the suddenly approaching figure of Yuri Plisetsky. Victor let himself glide to a stop as Yuri came to meet him, arms already folded in a pale mirror of the scowl on his face. ‘You don’t need to drop me home today. I’m going out with Mila and everyone.’  
  
Victor blinked down at Yuri, mind not all catching up to what Yuri was saying and Yuri pulled that face again. The one that made Victor feel like Yuri was almost feeling sorry for him, or whatever the closest to that Yuri Plisetsky could get. Victor shook his head, as though he might shake the hurt his own Yuuri had given him off like snow.  
  
‘Right. No problem,’ Victor replied distractedly and Yuri blew a stray strand of hair from his face, looking most unimpressed.  
  
‘You forgot.’  
  
Yes, he had.

‘What? No, I didn’t!’ Victor said, trying for a smile and knowing he was failing miserably. Yuri raised a little blond eyebrow at him, clearly not falling for it.  
  
‘You can’t even lie in Russian, what makes you think you’ll do it in in English any better?’ Yuri groused and Victor sighed, decidedly not in the mood for Yuri’s attitude today. Or any day, really, if Victor were to be honest about it.  
  
‘Hardly matters, does it? Not driving you anywhere now,’ Victor replied as Yuri pushed his hair back, twiddling his fingers around the hair band he had on one wrist as he twisted a ponytail.

Victor watched the way Yuri moved, the way his eyes had dismissed Victor to watch his own skates as he concentrated on turning the band around his hair. Victor remembered how to do that so well. Reflexively, he reached up for his own hair. He met the curt silver ends of his fringe, then dropped his hand.  
  
Stupid, to think of that now.  
  
‘So, kiddie’s club in the cinema tonight?’ Victor asked as Yuri straightened up, hair back now. Yuri threw Victor up a considerably filthy look. Victor was impressed and thought even Yakov’s ex, who was formidable enough, would be proud of such a thing.  
  
‘Forgetful and an asshole,’ Yuri said and Victor frowned at him, affronted. Yuri ignored him, like he did with Victor in most things. ‘What would _Vogue_ do if they knew the truth about you, huh?’  
  
‘Call more often?’ Victor joked and Yuri scoffed, and Victor may thought he may just have gotten a genuine laugh out of Yuri for a moment, if Yuri Plisetsky was capable of anything even remotely resembling humour. Or mirth. Or any of those other happy emotions that weren’t sulking and literally snapping like a starving dog.  
  
‘We’re going to Georgi’s for games,’ Yuri said curtly, ignoring Victor’s joke and tossing his head in the direction of the side of the rink. Victor looked over Yuri’s narrow shoulder, down at where Mila was talking away to Georgi Popovich, the other senior male skater in Victor’s prefecture and fellow rinkmate. Victor didn’t know him that well, but his choice of music always veered to the classic romantic, skating themes following in turn. Not that Victor judged him for that.  
  
Not exactly, anyway… Victor just found it a tad predictable that was all. Tchaikovsky was so terribly vulgar, Victor felt.

‘Who’s going to this games night?’  
  
‘Everyone, obviously. It’s the second Monday of the month,’ Yuri replied like whatever that meant were obvious and Victor was supposed to know the entire rink’s roster backwards and forwards.

Victor cast another look over to where Mila and Georgi were now talking over the awning with two other skaters Victor only knew from sight. There was a cold pang as Victor took it all in- evidently, he was not included in the range of  _everyone._  
  
‘Meaning?’  
  
‘Meaning we have two days off next. Not all of us spent our holidays on fucking Detroit.’  
  
Victor gave Yuri a suspicious glance, brushing off the strange disappoint he'd felt a moment ago. He tossed a quick look over to where Yakov was lurking. He was watching Victor right back and the bottom of Victor’s neck grow hot under the scrutiny. He went back to Yuri. ‘Is there going to be drinking at this party?’  
  
‘Why do you care? Going to rat us out to Papa?’ Yuri said with a snarl, sounding not at all concerned about Victor doing such a thing. Victor grinned.  
  
‘Not at all. I’m just amazed you have it in you.’  
  
‘Fuck off, geezer.’

‘And I’m jealous. I could do with a drink,’ Victor sighed, still feeling Yakov’s eyes on him. Victor rather thought he’d be forty and the surly fucker would be still be lurking over Victor’s shoulder. Judging every step, shift and word Victor gave. Victor stopped himself quicky before that train of thought led right back to Yuuri. ‘Or several,’ he added, thinking of it.  
  
‘Then call your own friends and go get one,’ Yuri said simply, turning to look over to where Mila was calling him back over. He gave Victor a quick look, face suddenly tight. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Victor tilted his head, curious.  
  
‘What?’  
  
‘Are you… like, is all good?’ Yuri asked, shifted his weight from skate to the other. Victor blinked, gaping slightly in shock. Of all the things Victor had ever expected of Yuri Plisetsky, this was teetering strangely towards something Victor had never considered. Something suspiciously close to _concern.  
  
_ Victor blinked and folded his arms, askance and not too little bashful. He was feeling strangely self-conscious, like Yuri could see the shuttered feeling Victor had curling in his chest at the thought of his own empty apartment and silent phone waiting for him when practice ended. Victor pulled a smile from his pocket happiness, where he kept that hearty lilt usually reserved for interviews.  
  
‘Why, Yuri? I didn’t know you cared,’ Victor chimed, reaching over to ruffle the top of Yuri’s blond head and thoroughly disrupt the balance of his pony tail. Yuri growled childishly, flapping his hands like a small bird to get Victor off him.  
  
_‘Otvali!_ ’  
  
Victor was on the cusp of chasing Yuri back towards the other end of the rink like the impressive adult he was with Yuri squawking curses back most unpleasantly when he was interrupted by Yakov calling Victor’s name across the ice, holding Victor’s phone aloft. Victor froze, stomach dropping instantly. His social media notifications were turned off, so close to the Grand Prix. And no one called him. No one, except-  
  
Victor was across the ice in record time, snatching the phone from Yakov’s hand and almost dropping it from his gloved fingers in his scramble to try and get it open. Yakov muttered something in Russian about incessant beeping but Victor brushed him off, heart in his throat as he saw one unread message from Yuuri. Almost ten days later, Yuuri had finally reached back.  
  
**18:44PM** I’m sorry for being MIA. Working through something. I promise we’ll talk soon. Good luck in training.  
  
Victor reached out blindly, gripping the edge of the rink wall, a dull ringing in his ears. He read over the words again. Over and over, until they started to blur at the edges and Victor wasn’t entirely sure he was grasping the English correctly.

All in all, it probably wasn’t the most impersonal text message he’d ever received from Yuuri. Even the flirtatious ones from the very first days of their meeting Victor knew to have been likely fired off with the same blithe attitude Victor responded to most interview questions with. But given the radio silence Victor had been getting just before receiving this message, Victor considered the text with something akin to wariness.

Not that he really had any right to, Victor supposed dejectedly. Yuuri didn’t have to answer Victor’s calls or texts if he didn’t want to, and he definitely didn’t have to so with bells and whistles attached.

But now, staring at the proof of Yuuri’s indifference, Victor felt like suddenly the air was too thin. The cold of the rink turned sour in the back of his throat, stomach turning like a corkscrew as something feeling terribly close to rejection coiled there. Burying sharp like a blade and Victor flipped the hurt over, wondering if he could find the comfort Yuuri usually gave hiding underneath somewhere.  
  
‘Victor?’ Yakov tried, but Victor ignored him. He locked the phone, shoving it into the pocket of his sweats. He gave Yakov a bare smile, trying to ignore the frown he got back.  
  
‘Can I go?’ he asked, Yakov’s frown growing deeper. Victor turned on his skates, eyes already on the exit from the ice. ‘I’m going to go.’  
  
‘Victor!’ Yakov said sternly, reaching out and gripping Victor by the arm.  
  
Victor looked down at where he was being held, the red skin of Yakov’s dry hands stark against Victor's black sleeve. Victor almost felt drunk- dizzy, hollow and floating along somewhere uncertain. Victor moved Yakov’s hand off him distractedly.  
  
_‘_ _Vse khorosho?’_  
  
‘See you tomorrow,’ Victor brushed off, pushing away and heading for the exit, head spinning.  
  
Victor barely registered himself as he untied his skates and pulled his kit from a locker in the changing rooms. He rather felt like a headache was creeping in, chest tight with something a little sharper than disappointment and as heavy as heartbreak. His mind was racing, memories of Yuuri flitting past like books pages and Victor suddenly feared that the heat flooding to his face meant tears. Victor always did cry easily. With a stiff shove, Victor packed his skates into his gear-bag and grabbed his brown coat.   
  
As he was buttoning his coat, struggling over the puff of his Russian jersey, Victor stopped in his tracks at the sight of Yakov waiting for him in the rink's foyer. Yakov was leaning against the reception desk, arms folded and eyes straight out at the door. Watching the snow. Victor swore under his breath- his head was pounding now and all he wanted was to get home and be alone as soon as possible. He really didn't have the patience for Yakov's scolding right now.   
  
Victor sighed, pushing a hand through his hair resignedly and started to make his way past.   
  
'I know, I know. I'll go for a run when I get home and stretch after,' Victor said, looking down at his feet and in English in the hope of curtailing whatever tirade Yakov had planned. Instead, Yakov stopped Victor like he had in the rink, with one hand taking Victor's upper arm. Victor stopped, cursed whatever god seemed to be out to get him today and met Yakov's eye. Victor bit his cheek, waiting for Yakov to tell him how irresponsible he was being, how foolish, how-  
  
'Do you need me to drive you home?' Yakov said instead and Victor's mouth fell open, unable to disguise his shock in time.   
  
'Drive- what?' he said, utterly bemused and momentarily, Yuuri was thrown entirely from Victor's mind.  
  
Yakov's face tightened, not all too unlike the way Yuri Plisetsky's had and Victor couldn't help but notice that. That self-consciousness from before came back with a vengeance and Victor was beginning to worry if he had  _miserable_ written across his forehead in clear Cyrillic. Yuuri had Victor's heart in a vice and it was turning out to be the world's worst kept secret. Yakov would barely offer Victor his water bottle from the stands, now the old man was offering a seat in his car? At this rate, Victor was sure even Mila would be banging down his door with platitudes.   
  
'Or I will drive you to my home,' Yakov continued, like Victor hadn't been standing silent for the last few moments. 'You can join me for dinner. There is borscht from Aniko’s café in my fridge.'  
  
Victor felt like he wasn't entirely following what was happening here. Slowly, though, his brain eventually caught up. 

Victor could count with his fingers the amount of times he'd been in Yakov’s home since he'd moved out at nineteen. And he hadn't been at all since Yakov and Lilia’s divorce over a year ago. Victor hovered, not sure what he was feeling. He gripped his gear-bag tightly.

Yakov seemed to notice Victor’s hesitance.

‘You're always welcome, Vitya.’

Victor bristled, forever perturbed by how Yakov just somehow managed to _know_ these things.

‘Thank you, but no. I drove myself and I should get back to Makkachin. I’ll see you tomorrow,’ Victor said, trying to sound sorry.

But Victor knew a trap when he saw one and he really wasn't in the mood. Yakov looked like he might say something else, but then he nodded once, letting Victor go gently. Victor pulled into himself, though he knew it were unlikely Yakov would stop him again and made for the exit.

Victor felt Yakov's eyes on his back as he left and for the first time that day, his mind completely blank of Yuuri.

* * *

  
By the time Victor made it home, Yuuri had returned to Victor's mind with a cold sinking feeling, giving Victor a pretty fair idea of what he wanted to do now he was home.   
  
Victor left his gear-bag in a heap by the door, patting Makkachin dutifully as she sniffed around it, evidently far more interested in whatever perfume the bag had to offer than Victor’s affection. Once he’d managed to convince the mess of fluff around to a few kisses, Victor stood up and made a bee-line for the pristine chrome cabinets of the island of his kitchen.  
  
All in all, the pickings were slim to say the least. Despite what Yuri Plisetsky thought, Victor didn't have friends for such occasions which meant his liqueur cabinet was something of a graveyard. Not that Victor had anyone but himself to blame for that, he admitted miserably as he sank to his knees for a better look. Victor never accepted those invitations anyway.

Pushing aside two half empty bottles of grenadine and a rather spotty looking bottle of some form of sugar syrup, Victor finally found something strong enough for any of the above to be mixed with. He turned the bottle of peach schnapps around in his hand, glaring down at it. Well, just about strong enough.   
  
Anything had a kick after drinking a full bottle of it, right?  
  
Victor kicked off his runners, Makkachin shuffling with interest around his feet as he padded his way across the kitchen to fish a glass out. By the time he was sitting back on his couch, Victor was down two whole mouthfuls and already considering refilling the glass. He slapped the bottle onto the coffee table, tossing his phone after. He watched it skim across the table, lips tingling from the sugar of the schnapps as he tugged at them with his teeth.  
  
All day, Victor’s head had been filled with Yuuri. All week really, if Victor were to be honest. But that text. That stupid, baffling text had dug beneath Victor’s resolve like a shovel, turning earth over all the feelings Victor had tried to manage since Yuuri had first started his evident vow of silence. Victor took a long sip of his drink, back of his throat biting with alcohol sting as it went down a little harder.  
  
Yuuri wasn’t like Victor. Victor had never expected him to be, and he probably should’ve expected what Yuuri turned out to be. Because Yuuri was all deflection to Victor’s open invitation, slipping his feeling between layers of misdirection and innuendo.

In the beginning, that had been fun. A challenge, or puzzle, for Victor to try and solve. But the more this went on, the more Victor was beginning to think that Yuuri wasn't withholding to toy, but perhaps just withholding altogether.

Victor wasn’t used to that, wasn’t sure how to navigate those waters. Why would someone hide how they felt for no reason?   
  
If Yuuri were a liar, then Victor thought he could handle that pretty okay. Victor had experience with liars, knew how to bounce a hurt like that back. But Yuuri? Beautiful, soft Yuuri with surprise corners that caught Victor’s heart like paper edges on his thumb. Drew blood from him before Victor could even notice. Victor had never had his heart broken like this before, wasn’t even entirely sure if it had happened yet.  
  
Maybe it was just premonition. There was a first for everything, after all. Maybe Victor had finally figured out how to spot the speed bump before he ran right over it. Experience was fickle like that, showing up with lessons when one least expected it. At least Yakov would be pleased that Victor had managed to learn something other than how to stay upright at the end of a quad over the last eleven or so years.  
  
Victor laughed to himself, bitter and completely indulging in it. Oh, Yakov would only be too thrilled to hear how this was all working out. No one loved to be right like Yakov did, Victor thought to himself as he downed the last of his glass. The schnapps was sweet enough to drink straight, perhaps even too much so as Victor’s second helping was significantly larger than his first as he watched the viscous liquid kiss rings to the walls of his glass.  
  
Halfway through it, Victor decided to pick his phone up- before promptly changing his mind and putting it back on the coffee table with a stubborn slap.

No.  
  
If Yuuri wanted to sort whatever it was he was sorting out, then Victor just had to leave him to that. But the twitch to reach out, to help or guide tremoured under Victor’s skin. Earthquake in his soul and changing the lay of the land, affection for Yuuri carving valleys where sense ran out like rivers.

Yuuri was everything Victor had ever been afraid of giving into when skating held it’s hand around his neck like a collar. But the collar was loosening and Victor was learning to breathe again. Perhaps even for the first time.  
  
Leaving such a fragile thing in Yuuri’s hands, alone, seemed almost too much a risk to take.  
  
Victor rarely felt hesitant of things. Everything Victor did he tended to give himself over entirely to. Especially practice- to repeat and rehearse, wholly dedicated, until it was perfect. Only now, (two weeks since he’d last seen Yuuri and who knew how long since he’d last actually heard from him), did Victor begin to think that maybe trusting Yuuri wouldn’t follow the same pattern. People weren’t like skating, much to Victor’s continuous consternation.  
  
They were just as likely to bruise him, however. Which was definitely a less strange feeling. Victor shoved those memories down before they could resurface, years of practice guiding him.  
  
Victor’s third and fourth glass blurred exceptionally quickly, he felt. He eyed his glass suspiciously after finishing the latest one, wondering where exactly he’d begun to lose track. At that, he abandoned the glass entirely for the bottle, laying back across the couch lengthways. In for a penny, and all that. Makkachin bounded over to him, taking his new position as invitation for the cuddles she’d heartlessly abstained from earlier.  
  
With Makkachin now settled in a fluffy mass across his lap, Victor rested his head against the armrest and took a swig from the bottle, lips popping like a balloon around the narrow end of it.    
  
Yuuri was… Victor thought he might be angry with Yuuri, actually.  
  
Which was fair, surely! Victor felt it was more than fair.  
  
‘I’m mad at him,’ Victor admitted to Makkachin, who watched him back woefully, tongue lolling. ‘I’m angry and… and he doesn’t even care! Why doesn’t care?’  
  
The realisation sat in Victor’s mouth, against his teeth and he groaned, miserable. That heavy, swelling feeling of dread that had turned itself around like a corkscrew in his gut turned hot with admittance, the frustration Victor felt at Yuuri melting out of it.  
  
Moscow had been difficult. Exceptionally; and not just for the obvious emotional freight train that being with Yuuri just happened to be. But even his skate, which Victor had taken a great chance on. He could’ve made a holy show of it. Did Yuuri not appreciate that either? Victor had really felt then that they had come so far, that Yuuri had opened up with something that might actually have been close to true. For once.  
  
The next sip went down much, much smoother.  
  
Victor knew he could be difficult. Victor was all combustion, he knew that. Could see it in the way people rolled their eyes, could feel it as a teenager in Yakov’s stern hand on his shoulder. Yuuri wasn’t like that. Yuuri didn’t shout, or run, or push. But Victor really felt Yuuri was being distinctly unfair to treat him like this. Surely it wasn’t hard to just pick up the phone and make more of an effort than one text?  
  
Especially if that one text had come over a fucking week late.  
  
Maybe it was the misery from it all. Or just the deep, hollow feeling of grief he still held in his stomach that had only grown despite finally hearing from Yuuri. Or simply just the schnapps. But Victor reached out a hand blindly, knocking the remote control and nudging his glass along the surface of the coffee table as he reached for his phone from where he’d left it.

It took a few go’s to get past his own lock, (fingertip recognition evidently banjaxed for some stupid reason, god, phones were the worst), but when Victor finally had the phone open, he hit call before he could talk himself in any way out of it. He was Victor Nikiforov. Five time world champion. He could do a quad flip in his sleep! Now, even, if he wanted! He could make this phone call.

The phone rang, and rang. And eventually, rang out altogether and Victor swore loudly, startling Makkachin off his lap.

 _‘Radi boga!’_ Victor snapped, glaring at the phone as it went to messages. He cancelled the call, before trying again. And a third time after that. Then a fourth, because fuck it. And by that point, what was the difference of a fifth or sixth?  
  
(Maybe he should’ve eaten something before downing two thirds of a bottle of schnapps).

The dull, beeping tone of the call felt like it was drilling holes in Victor’s head. He squeezed his eyes shut, mind spinning like a top from the drink and the exhaustion and the pounding, nagging thought that if Yuuri didn't answer his phone _this second_ Victor was going to-

_Click._

Victor held his breath as the phone finally answered, the small voice of the most beautiful idiot on the other end of the line.

‘Hi,’ Yuuri said, the word suddenly so large it filled Victor’s whole living room; it pushed the air out, filled his lungs so he couldn't think to say a word.

‘Yu…’ Victor started, but lost his breath halfway through. There was a quiet shuffle on the other end of the phone and suddenly, Victor could picture Yuuri so clearly. A finger to the edge of his glasses, his bottom lip between his teeth. All shy inversion despite Victor knowing that Yuuri rarely did anything unless he meant to, endearing softness included. Something snapped cold inside of him, tears blooming hot.

‘Victor-’

‘You fucking asshole,’ Victor interrupted, slurring his words so hard they all crashed together into the wall of his accent. Yuuri squeaked like a bird on the other end of the line.

‘What?!’ Yuuri exclaimed down the phone. Victor frowned, sticking his lips out for good measure. Not that Yuuri could see such a thing. ‘Did you- did you just call me an asshole?’

‘You disappeared! Who does that, Yuuri?’ Victor continued, completely ignoring Yuuri’s moaning. Yuuri was a grown man, he could take being called an asshole. Especially when he was behaving like one. ‘You can’t just do that. It’s not nice.’  
  
‘Not nice?’ Yuuri repeated slowly and Victor wondered why out of everything, Yuuri would choose that to focus on.  
  
‘Yes,’ Victor said with a nod Yuuri couldn’t appreciate. ‘Normal people don’t just vanish and ignore their boyfriend for a week.’ Yuuri made a small noise then and Victor’s chest grew tight, back of his throat catching on the sugar of the schnapps. ‘Do you even know how to be around normal people anymore?’  
  
Yuuri’s breath was like the crinkle of paper over the phone line. ‘Victor, I think-’  
  
‘Because if you don’t, then that’s something we should work on,’ Victor finished, taking another swig from the bottle. He overdid it a bit, schnapps running down his chin. He wiped at it idly, wondering why Yuuri wasn’t saying anything. ‘Yuuri? Have you disappeared _again?_ That was fast, even for you.’  
  
Yuuri still said nothing, but Victor could hear the static that told him Yuuri was still there. Then, Yuuri made a small clicking noise with his tongue. ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘Why are you so _you?’_ Victor said by way of a reply, ignoring the question and earning another one of those stupid little tsks.

‘You're drunk,’ Yuuri replied and was he mad? He sounded mad. Which was distinctly unfair as Victor was the one who was supposed to be angry. Victor was the one hurting. Yuuri was the dick who took Victor’s heart between his perfect fingers just to snap it like a fucking… fucking Mikado biscuit.

‘Maybe!’ Victor replied loudly, hearing his own voice crack on the word. ‘So what?’

‘I'm not talking to you when you're drunk,’ Yuuri said, sounding exceptionally up himself. Victor scoffed.

‘You're not talking to me at all. What difference does being drunk make?’

‘Victor, please,’ Yuuri chastised on the phone, sounding distinctly _something_ right now and Victor couldn't figure out what it was. ‘We shouldn't do this now.’

‘Do what? Why are you ignoring me? What's going on?’ Victor asked, questions running out of his mouth like water. They stuck together in odd places, _w’_ s twitching as Victor tripped over his words. ‘You're not supposed to ignore me. Definitely breaking a few boyfriend rules there.’

‘I know,’ Yuuri said softly, cooing almost and something in Victor thawed. It turned warm, twisting happy in Victor’s heart traitorously at hearing Yuuri at least admit that what he was doing wasn't okay. That meant there had to be a reason for it then, right?

That made sense. Victor was (relatively) sure.  
  
‘Talk to me, Yuuri,’ Victor said and those tears were back. Victor had always been a crier. Dog food advert, Christmas songs. _Titanic._ This was like all of those things rolled into one stubborn lump that stuck in Victor’s throat. Victor took a shaky breath, rolling the end of the schnapps bottle over his chest. ‘Please talk to me.’  
  
‘I can’t do that, Victor,’ Yuuri said gently, like he was coaxing Victor down. In that moment, Yuuri reminded Victor so vividly of Yakov it made his stomach turn. ‘We can’t talk with you like this.’  
  
‘You’re going to break up with me,’ Victor said stupidly, realisation suddenly dawning. He let the bottle slip from his fingers then. It rolled over his chest, down the side of the couch and onto the floor with a dull _thump._ ‘You are. Aren’t you?’  
  
Yuuri didn’t say anything. Which was probably all the answer Victor could’ve expected  
  
‘Asshole,’ Victor said again and Yuuri made a high sound of disapproval. ‘You didn’t even give us twenty-four hours, Yuuri. I’ve had longer relationships with… I don’t know, Makkachin’s fleas or something.’  
  
‘Go to bed, Victor,’ Yuuri said tightly and Victor knew he was going to hang up, so he sat up in a panic. His head spun on his shoulders, stomach swooping unpleasantly.  
  
‘Don’t hang up!’ Victor said, listening to the quiet static of Yuuri’s silence. But he was still there. Still listening. ‘You answered me. Eventually. That means that what happened in Moscow must’ve meant something to you, too.’  
  
‘Of course it did,’ Yuuri replied quickly, all in one breath and Victor’s heart soared. Because that sounded awfully like the Yuuri he’d had in his arms not so long ago. The man whose hands were shaking when he told Victor that he liked him, tapping fingerprints on Victor’s skin like Yuuri were testing the water.  
  
‘Stop running scared then!’ Victor said to that, laughing at the end because he couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t that it was funny, (it really wasn’t), but the whole thing was just so ridiculous now that Victor could hardly believe he’d managed to get himself stuck in it. ‘You said you were sorting things out.  
  
‘It’s complicated,’ Yuuri said and Victor groaned because that was such a _Yuuri_ thing to say.  
  
‘It’s supposed to be, Yuuri,’ Victor snapped, growing impatient now. Static was all he got in reply to that. ‘Besides, it’s not like anything with you has ever been anything close to easy.’  
  
‘Then why’d you bother with me?’ Yuuri asked and Victor almost laughed, feeling like perhaps he was going mad and Yuuri was the one poking his smoking brain with a sharp stick.  
  
‘I don’t how much clearer I can be after Moscow,’ Victor sighed, throwing an arm up and over his eyes. His blood felt like it were fizzing, just beneath his skin. Everything moving, electricity coursing. Always, with Yuuri.  
  
‘You did just call me an asshole.’  
  
‘I can call you an asshole and still be in love with you. Asshole seems to be my type, anyway,’ Victor admitted roughly, only noticing now that he seemed to be rocking his head side-to-side along the armrest. He tried to consciously hold himself steady, static of Yuuri’s quiet filling his ears and the room shifting like a dream around him.

Victor realised too late that he had just admitted to Yuuri that Victor was in love with him, again. But Victor was finding it very hard to care, everything feeling so soft and fuzzy around him. Besides, it's not like it wasn't true.  
  
Victor watched as Makkachin nosed at the bottle of schnapps on the floor, frowning at the criss-cross patterns of snow shadows pouring in from the windows. Was it snowing already? Victor looked up and out the windows, watching as snow turned orange in the streetlight. The whole world was melting outside and Victor felt like his own head wasn’t too far off it. Yuuri always seemed to have that effect.

‘Why did you call me, Victor?’ Yuuri asked finally, voice a whisper across oceans. Victor closed his eyes, smiling and forgetting entirely that he as supposed to angry with Yuuri because Yuuri was finally back, finally talking to him.

‘Do I need a reason to call you?’ Victor answered with a laugh, feeling giddy because the schnapps had turned warm in his stomach and Yuuri’s voice was in his ear now, catching the tail end of his buzz like trailing fireworks. Victor could listen to Yuuri speak forever, it was so rare. ‘Is that how you work? Is that why you haven't called me? You didn't have a reason?’

‘Something like that,’ Yuuri replied distantly and Victor frowned, rolling over on the couch. When he said nothing else, Victor tucked his lips around the words he’d been dying to say.  
  
‘I miss you.’  
  
There was a shuffle on the other end of the line and for one horrible moment, Victor thought Yuuri had hung up on him. But it seemed that Yuuri was just moving the phone around. Maybe he wasn’t alone? The thought turned Victor’s heart to lead and sank low, beneath the surface dread that had swam in his gut since Yuuri hadn’t called him that first day.  
  
‘Yuuri?’  
  
‘I miss you, too,’ Yuuri said slowly, English pulled apart at the seams so Victor could hear something he thought might be Yuuri’s own accent slip through. Victor cradled the sound of it, savouring the way it traveled across the line and wondered when knowing anyone had become this  addictive. ‘But we shouldn’t do this. Not now. I have to work something out.’  
  
‘Like what?’ Victor asked, wanting to help. Yuuri made a stark noise before humming thoughtfully.  
  
‘Later,’ Yuuri said instead of giving an answer. That was just so… Yuuri. Victor groaned, rubbing his eyes as he was beginning to feel dizzy from watching the snow. Yuuri was all comfort down the line, whispering goodbye before Victor could even register that it was what he was doing until he was almost too late.  
  
‘Wait!’ Victor cried loudly, startling Makkachin. Yuuri made a small _um_ noise on the phone. ‘Don’t go yet.’  
  
‘I have to go.’  
  
‘Then pretend you don’t!’  
  
‘Victor, stop,’ Yuuri chastised, sounding more and more distant. Like he kept moving the phone away from where it should be. ‘You shouldn’t have called.’  
  
‘I had to call.’  
  
‘Why?’

‘I just- I just wanted to hear the sound of your voice,’ Victor said lamely, wincing as the words actually passed his lips because he heard just how pathetic that was, but too late. Christ, what the fuck was that?  
  
Yuuri said nothing on the other end for a long time. If Victor calling him an asshole didn’t do it, then Victor was fairly sure that such a ridiculous thing to say would. He leaned forward, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing heavily, uncaring for how unattractive that would sound across the speaker. Evidently, Yuuri found Victor unattractive just fine already.    
  
‘I promise we’ll talk soon, Victor,’ Yuuri said at last and Victor choked on his laugh, disbelieving. Yuuri had promised him before he’d call when he’d landed in Detroit. Victor wasn’t sure how many more of these promises his heart could take. ‘But there are things I need to do. Please understand.’  
  
‘I think I do,’ he said mirthlessly, collapsing back onto the couch again. Victor didn’t hang up, and Yuuri didn’t either.  
  
‘Will you be alright?’ Yuuri asked and Victor could see him so clearly. Like if he closed his eyes and reached out, Yuuri might be there. Victor closed his eyes, twisting his free hand into the hem of his jersey, just for something to do.  
  
‘Probably not.’  
  
‘Victor, my Victor,’ Yuuri whispered and Victor opened his eyes, heart speeding up as Yuuri said his name like that. Low and deep, curling around the vowels with an accent like he might hold Victor’s hand. Victor watched the shadows of snow on his ceiling. Listened to Makkachin’s claws on the floor. ‘I promise you, everything is going to be fine.’  
  
Victor froze, heart opening like a wound and it bled hope.  
  
‘I promise,’ Yuuri said one more time, louder. More sure. And then, he was gone with a soft click.

* * *

  
The next day, Victor slept in past eight and ignored every call Yakov made.   
  
When he finally rocked on back to the rink, in the same kit he was wearing yesterday, Yakov gave Victor one very long, dark look before seemingly deciding a scold was not even worth giving and stepping aside to let Victor through to the changing rooms. Victor would’ve been suspicious if he could think about anything but the way Yuuri had sounded so certain the night before.  
  
Was he certain because he had already made up his mind? Or was there something else going on?  
  
(Victor stepped onto the rink in silence, his gold skates a whisper. He started to move, tried to remember to breathe).

The future had always seemed a sort of abstract thing to Victor. He didn't really have much of a plan, the general feeling from both himself and everyone else being that he'd just keep skating until something inevitably gave out. Mind or body, maybe even will. It was only through seeing his skating through Yuuri’s eyes did Victor realise that over the last few years, he had been skating for everyone but himself. For Yakov and his dedication, for Yuri Plisetsky and his ambition. For the ISU, the audience.

(Deep breath, in and out. Counter on the spin).

Yuuri had never expected Victor to skate for him. Even when he'd been staring at Victor across the podium. Perhaps that's what made doing so now feel good. Familiar, almost. With that now wrapped around him like a medal around his neck, Victor regarded his future with more purpose.

The grey images of next year’s season bloomed colour at the idea of having Yuuri join him in it. Victor knew it was highly unlikely Yuuri would compete, even if he were to return to skating. His sabbatical had been so long. But in the soft dark of his bedroom over the week, with only himself, Victor indulged in the fantasy on the feathering edge of sleep. Victor twisted the memory of Yuuri’s last skate with what he felt he could teach Yuuri. Bent the dream into shapes like his mother used to fold bread dough. Skating for Yuuri, for the admiration and love Yuuri held, was almost like skating for himself again. Victor wanted to rediscover that feeling.

(Momentum, push. Single loop. Victor felt his body catch the impact with a shiver).

But there were other parts of the future revealing themselves, too. Soft touches to Victor’s glittering imagination that had his heart tripping over itself with happiness. The real memory of Yuuri’s skin, the taste of his kiss. The feel of his fingers between Victor’s own. There was a whole life waiting for them, just itching to start and Victor wondered how he'd ever managed to find someone so perfectly wonderful.

(‘Shaky!’ Yakov called from the awning, but Victor ignored him as he gained speed for a triple. Too soon, he hadn't warmed up enough).

They suited each other in ways Victor had always hoped for when he'd been young and fanciful. Where Victor felt himself all awkward brashness, Yuuri complimented him in gentle subtlety. Together they made a smile not even Victor could challenge, not for all the medals in the world.

Except all of that, all the ideas Victor had and the dreams he indulged in, depended most heavily on Yuuri actually deciding on… well, deciding on something altogether. Something Yuuri seemed either unwilling or incapable of.

Victor wasn't sure which was worse.  
  
But Yuuri sat at the centre of it all. Victor knew how foolish he was being, to tether his hopes to something as fickle as Yuuri, a person whose foundations moved like sand under an ever-giving tide. Victor’s whole world was toppling, lost to the things Yuuri offered and screaming hungry for the things he kept hidden. It was a mess; a stupid, addictive mess and Victor wondered why he was even surprised that of all the people in the world, Victor had managed to lose his heart to someone who traded secrets like breaths.  
  
Like everything Victor did, he always went above and beyond. Loving someone unattainable was one thing, but Victor seemed to reckon he could do one better by loving someone who might not even exist in the first place.  
  
Typical, really. Victor always took a leap before knowing he had solid ground to land on after all-  
  
Victor hit the ice with a hard slap that echoed throughout the rink, landing on his back and cracking the back of his head on the ice.  
  
For a long moment, Victor just lay there, shocked and staring up at the rink’s fluorescents. Then the frustration that had been boiling up inside of him since the beginning; since the night before, since Moscow, erupted out of him. Victor covered his face with both hands, screaming into his palms while kicking his legs out, back of his blades cutting up the ice beneath in shards.  
  
‘God!’ Victor cried, before slapping his arms up and over his head. He stomped his legs again, suddenly desperate to feel the push of the ice beneath him. To push so hard it broke and shattered and splintered and Victor was left with nothing to do but fall through the cracks of it. ‘What am I doing? _What am I doing?’_ _  
_ _  
_ ‘Victor!’  
  
Victor sat up, wincing as pain rippled through his lower back, from where he’d hit the ice first. His head was pulsing, but not as much. Victor pushed his wrecked hair out of his face, looking up to see Yakov skating towards him. Victor gaped; though Yakov always wore skates to training, Victor hadn’t seen them without guards in months. Longer still since he last saw Yakov physically on the ice himself.  
  
Yakov skated to Victor’s side, folding neatly with practice as he bent down to try and help get Victor up. Victor didn’t even think to wave him off, too stunned by the whole situation as Yakov took Victor’s weight to the centre of his own skates, hoisting them up. Yakov’s large hand s patted down Victor’s sides, cold fingers catching the hem of Victor’s gym shirt and lifting. Victor swayed slightly, eyes blinking white from the sudden change in position.  
  
‘Turn,’ Yakov said gruffly and Victor did, hissing as the twist in his hips pulled at his no doubt soon to be impressive bruise. It was just like being sixteen again, when Victor had been trying to relearn his body after its growth spurt. Yakov pressed a cold hand to Victor’s lower back, Victor sighing with relief at the chill on his skin.  
  
Then Yakov reached up, to the back of Victor’s head and gently probed. Victor swore when Yakov found the bump that was forming and Yakov made a noise of great disapproval from behind him. He replaced Victor’s shirt properly, brushing gently to get any stray ice off of him. Victor stood in his skates, trying to catch his breath again. He felt winded, like the fall had kicked him hard in the chest.  
  
‘What do you think?’ Victor asked over his shoulder at last, flicking ice dust from his sleeves with shaking fingers. His voice shook, despite best efforts. ‘Will I live, doctor?’  
  
‘Stupid boy,’ Yakov replied and Victor rolled his eyes. Typical. ‘No more practice today.’  
  
‘What?’ Victor asked, turning to face Yakov again. Wincing, as his head throbbed. Yakov’s thick eyebrows were together, all bent judgement. They reminded Victor off the long whiskers of his neighbours cat. Victor raised his hands, askance. ‘Do you have that little faith in me? One fall isn’t going to kill me.’  
  
‘It will if you decide to keep landing on your head,’ Yakov said roughly, voice hoarse from years of shouting at Victor. Victor pulled a face, knowing it was childish but also knowing that it tended to work when he wanted to get his way.  
  
‘Then I won’t land on my head,’ Victor replied brightly, but Yakov only frowned further. He took Victor’s arm stiffly, already beginning to guide him towards the rink-wall. Victor let himself be led for a moment, before laughing and slipping out of Yakov’s grip. ‘Honestly, there’s no need to be so dramatic. We can just keep things simple!’  
  
‘Like you’d even know where to start with that,’ Yakov said darkly and Victor mulled that over for a moment, unsure but suspecting that Yakov might just be making fun of him a little bit. It had been a long while since something like that had happened. ‘You’ve bruised your back and banged your head. Light stretch, shower and rest. If you skate anymore, you’ll pull something. Tomorrow we’ll check again. As for the head, maybe the ice finally knocked some sense into you. If you feel dizzy, you call me. _Da?’  
_  
Victor really couldn’t argue with any of that, to be honest, but he still felt he was missing something. It wasn’t like Yakov to treat him so carefully. But Victor said nothing as they stepped off the ice, Yakov covering his skates with their guards and pointing Victor off towards the stretching mats. Victor went, stretching as directed before changing back into his kit after his shower and wondering if maybe Yakov was having some form of post-divorce crisis.

Yakov had been so grave lately, more and more as the Grand Prix approached. Maybe the old man was more worried than Victor originally thought about all the retirement rumours that circled Victor like vultures. Victor knew they bothered Yakov, knew that they also suggested a step down by Yakov as a coach as well. It was one of the myriad of reasons he always pushed so hard.  
  
Victor didn't like how tied his career was to Yakov’s reputation, the awareness of it becoming a heavier burden with each year Victor competed. But it couldn't be helped- both of them knew that and truly, Victor didn’t outright regret it. The ache for something else, however. For skating to offer something more than the reaffirmation of Yakov’s approval made itself known everytime Victor’s thoughts strayed to it. Made itself downt the now beaten track to the thought of Yuuri.  
  
Those thoughts swirled in caramel browns, sticking like toffee and Victor wondered if he’d ever get the taste of Yuuri out from between his teeth...  
  
Victor took a sharp breath, tasted the metallic sting of the rink at the back of throat. Forcing himself back to the present.

If Yakov was having a crisis of some sort, the old man was more than entitled to one, Victor supposed. And Victor’s sympathy regarding that whole thing had definitely increased over the last few hours. Victor wondered if everyone’s relationships were like theirs; if everyone sat and dreamed of being able to read their partner’s thoughts like pages, skim their fears and find the right words to fix the problems they faced.  
  
Or perhaps he and Yakov were just doomed outright.  
  
Once he’d put himself back together, Victor pulled his coat on, slung his gear-bag over his shoulder with a wince and walked back out into the foyer. He found that Yakov was waiting for him there. Coat and fedora on, it seemed Yakov was calling it a day also. Victor flushed with embarrassment, glad that everyone else had the day off so they weren’t witness to the whole fiasco.  
  
Victor pulled his scarf into shapes, fidgeting with it as he approached.  
  
‘I’m sorry about today,’ Victor said, watching Yakov’s face for any hint as to what kind of punishment Yakov was likely lining up if it turned out Victor had done some major damage before the Grand Prix. ‘I shouldn’t let myself get distracted.’  
  
To Victor’s surprise, Yakov actually smiled. Admittedly, it was a very, very small one.  
  
‘You’ve been giving me that same apology since you were twelve,’ Yakov said, shaking his head and when he looked at Victor again, he was no longer smiling. Instead, his stone-grey eyes watched Victor with a look of stern regard. Victor tightened his grip on his own scarf. ‘You’d think you’d have learned by now.’  
  
‘I’ll get it one day,’ Victor joked and Yakov scoffed, clearly not believing him.

Victor shrugged, shifting his gear-bag as they both stood in reception silently.  
  
‘Well, _dos-’_  
  
‘I should drive you.’  
  
Victor’s goodbye died on his tongue, baffled by Yakov’s offer. This was twice now, in a row, Yakov was offering Victor a ride home. Victor gaped, rather ungracefully but he truly couldn’t think what to say. Yakov looked away from him, staring out across the foyer at the snow outside. He pulled on some dark, leather gloves.

‘I don't think you should be alone,’ Yakov said roughly as his wrinkled hands slipped beneath the leather, Victor watching the movement. The stiffness of Yakov’s fingers, like they were wooden. ‘And I know you didn’t drive today.’  
  
After the bottle of schnapps and no dinner, Victor would’ve been hard pushed to find his car keys in the first place never mind put them into the ignition.  
  
‘I can get a cab.’  
  
‘Why waste money if I am here?  
  
There really wasn’t anything to say to that, but Victor was still suspicious. He worried the corner of his lip, Yakov watching him again with narrowed eyes.  
  
‘Come. I will give you lunch,’ Yakov said with the air that a decision had been made and that knocked Victor out of his hesitation.  
  
‘I don’t need lunch, hey- don’t worry about it!’ he tried, voice running high. Victor heard his own accent then, flushing despite himself. But Yakov was already on his way out, ignoring Victor’s babbling.  
  
‘I still have food. I always get too much,’ Yakov continued, like Victor had said nothing and Victor knew this game too well to think he had any chance of convincing Yakov otherwise now.

Short of Victor bolting off in the opposite direction, (which despite fanciful thoughts to the contrary, Victor was not going to do), Victor had made his bed. So he followed Yakov outside to where Yakov’s beat up Volkswagen sat. Victor had learned to drive in that car; he could still see the dip on the bottom lip of the driver door from where Victor had hit it off a curb once.

They didn't speak in the car. The radio filled their silence, updates on the recent soccer season and then the weather. Victor watched Saint Petersburg out the window, watched the light snow and the business of the people. Yakov lived deep in the city centre- upmarket apartment, on Vilenskiy Lane. Victor used to run as far as the Winter Palace and back, stopping at the small café by Nekrasovskiy Garden for pelmeni on the long way back. The woman who owned it was Czech; she’d practice English with Victor on those chill mornings, tell him his hair was getting too long.  
  
Victor hadn’t been to Aniko’s café in quite some time now. He wondered if Yakov still had the borscht.  
  
Deciding to leave his gear-bag in the car, Victor followed Yakov up from the carpark of the apartment complex. Yakov and Lilia had lived together in this apartment until the divorce. Victor had been sure Lilia would be the one to get it- she’d spent so long tailoring it down to the veneer of the skirting boards. Old Imperial glamour, typical of prima ballerina really. Even more so for the kind of woman Lilia Baranovskaya was.  
  
The place looked exactly as Victor remembered it. Gold-framed landscapes on pastel walls, dark wood floors and ornate vintage tables. It was darker, perhaps, as Yakov made no motion to turn the light on of the narrow hallway, instead heading straight down towards the kitchen. Emptier, too, as the tables lacked their old photos and flowers. Victor followed Yakov, that same quiet from the car pulled taut between them like a ringing note to a song. Victor was used to this, was used to walking the old wood floors of the place with his mouth shut.  
  
Victor found a seat for himself at the large oak table in the centre of the room, watching as Yakov shed his coat and hat. Yakov lay them across the table like a body, Victor wondering how long he’d have to stay before he could retreat back to his own apartment. Victor’s head was already past the point of being ignored, the throb spread out into a persistent ache now. Victor closed his eyes, trying to ignore the brilliant winter sun that streamed in through the arch windows.  
  
As with all things, Yakov saw what Victor tried not to show and he placed a glass of water down on the table with two small, white tablets.  
  
‘There is little point in being in pain when you don’t have to be,’ Yakov said like he was oh so clever and Victor threw him what he hoped was a very filthy look.  
  
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ Victor replied, feeling defiant. Yakov scoffed at him, watching from his current height as he leaned on the back of one of the chairs. Victor looked away, instead focusing on the white of Yakov’s fingers against the wood grain.  
  
‘I’m not letting you eat until you take them.’  
  
‘There’s got to be laws against that kind of thing,’ Victor said miserably, moving a hand up to rub at his temple where the ache was now crawling around to. ‘Aren’t I your bread and butter?’  
  
‘Yura is my bread and butter. You’re the cholesterol that’s bound to kill me,’ Yakov replied and Victor looked up to see Yakov was smiling at him again. Surprised, Victor laughed.  
  
‘That’s so unfair. If anyone’s going to kill someone it’s Yuri.’  
  
‘Perhaps. But perhaps you are simply biased to Yuris at the moment,’ Yakov said heavily and Victor’s smile dropped instantly, stomach with it as he caught Yakov’s meaning. ‘I am not a fool, Victor.’  
  
‘I would never say such a thing,’ Victor muttered, poking at the pills on the table just so he wouldn’t have to look at Yakov.

Victor had suspected it was coming, but he was still greatly underprepared for facing it. Had it been even a day earlier, Victor might’ve fared better. But now the uncertainty of Yuuri’s voice in his head stained Victor’s thoughts with doubt. A doubt he felt would not hold up well against Yakov’s intervention.  
  
‘Then do not treat me like one.  
  
‘I’m not doing that either.’

‘Don’t be childish.’  
  
‘I’m not,’ Victor snapped, sounding exactly that. Victor drummed his fingers on the table, wondering if he could get away with leaving. Probably not, but the thought held great appeal and Victor found his eyes wandering over to the door. Yakov seemed to notice the flight risk, as he stepped around the table and closed the door. Victor frowned.  
  
‘Take the medicine, Vitya. Wherever your Yuuri is, I don’t think he’d want you in pain.’

‘Forgive me, if I don't take romantic advice from a divorcé,’ Victor replied dully, but he took the paracetamol anyway without looking at Yakov. He swallowed them easily with one large gulp of water.

‘So I would be right in assuming that whatever is fogging your brain is related to Mister Katsuki?’

 _‘Mister Katsuki,’_ Victor repeated in a mumble, laughing despite himself at the formality. He looked up at Yakov, meeting his eye. ‘Aren't you right about everything? I distinctly remember you telling me that as a child.’

‘If only you remembered everything I told you as well as you remember that,’ Yakov replied brusquely, now busying himself with the kettle on the counter.

‘I'd remember better if you ever scolded me in Russian.’

‘Your English is good, don't whine.’

Victor took that silently, sipping his water for something to do that wasn't bring the conversation any closer to Yuuri. The last person in the world Victor wanted to speak to right now about the subject was Yakov.

Not that it seemed to matter, as Yakov was as mute as he was now prone to being off the rink. The apartment creaked around them, kettle whistling. Victor remembered distinctly when the place had first started falling into this kind of quiet. He'd only been seventeen, and at the time he'd put it down to Lilia’s increasingly long tours with foreign companies, Victor and Yakov too exhausted from training themselves to speak.

Victor had not known then what became obvious later. When Victor had finally pulled it together enough to house himself, he'd sworn he’d never let a silence like that crawl into his home like rot.

Now though, thinking of his own empty apartment waiting for him, Victor couldn't help but smirk bitterly to himself. Funny, how things worked out.

Victor hadn't realised how lost to his own thoughts he'd been until Yakov finally sat down at the table, placing a mug of steaming coffee before Victor with a dull thump.

‘Do you want to talk?’ Yakov asked as he sat down next to Victor, raising his own mug like he might take a sip but instead just regarding Victor with a steel gaze over it. Victor flushed, looking at his own coffee and prodding at the ceramic nervously.

‘Not particularly,’ Victor said, showing off his _good_ English. Yakov took a loud gulp of his coffee.

‘I don't want to make you,’ he said after. Victor looked up and frowned at Yakov, stopping in his fidgeting with the coffee mug.  
  
‘Is that an option you're considering?’

‘You fell.’

‘I'm a skater. Skaters fall.’

‘Not you.’

‘Well, you know me!’ Victor said blithely, holding his mug up to blow at the steam. ‘Always full of surprises.’

‘You've been distracted a while. A long while. I know Katsuki is behind it,’ Yakov said in the same tone of voice someone might use had they lost a rather hefty bet. It didn't sit right with Victor, to hear the accusation there.

‘Yuuri isn't behind anything,’ Victor said getting more nettled, making a point of Yuuri’s name like it might poke holes in Yakov’s scrutiny. ‘He’s not a saboteur.’  
  
Yakov said nothing, which was an answer in of itself Victor felt. Victor took a sip of his coffee, tasting the sugar and wondering how Yakov could be so considerate and also so woefully obtuse. Victor also thought of Yuuri, couldn’t help but do so. Yuuri was everywhere now and Victor had never had a person like that before. It hurt more than expected.  
  
‘He’s no help,’ Yakov finally said, words pressed to the rim of his mug and Victor put his own down with more force than needed, splashing coffee onto the table.  
  
‘Don’t talk about Yuuri like that,’ Victor warned, gaining Yakov’s gaze. It was metallic, reflecting Victor’s own emotion back at him but Victor didn’t waver. ‘You don’t know anything about him.’  
  
‘I know more than you,’ Yakov said, eyes suddenly widening like he hadn’t meant to say it. He froze, watching Victor carefully and Victor felt his chest grow tight, like the air were getting thin.  
  
Victor highly doubted Yakov knew anything about Yuuri that Victor didn’t know. But Victor suddenly realised that Yakov may know more than Victor was giving him credit for. Yakov had an impressive memory, unlike Victor. Victor knew it was likely he’d work out about Yuuri what Victor had needed help in. But still… Victor twisted his mug slowly, the ceramic tracing circles as Victor considered his next words carefully.  
  
‘If you’re talking about the skating, then I already know,’ Victor said slowly, watching Yakov’s face. Yakov held his mug to his face, as if aware of Victor’s scrutiny. But Victor saw his thick eyebrows come together. ‘If you’re talking about Yuuri’s profession, I know that, too. All of it.’  
  
Yakov took a deep breath. Blew the steam from his mug and placed it down gently on the table. Yakov’s eyes were the colour of storm clouds in the shadows of the kitchen, Victor unafraid as he watched right back and waited.  
  
Yuuri may not be the best choice. But he was Victor’s choice, and as that thought hit him, Victor realised just how truly gone he was. Yuuri was blazing fire to Victor’s life; he was light and warmth, with edges that burned Victor’s fingers when he reached out to touch and Yuuri  breathed Victor’s presence like Yuuri lived with it. Victor could lose himself to a love like that. He wanted to.  
  
‘There is better out there for you than Yuuri Katsuki,’ Yakov said at last, all mask of pretence dropped. Victor seethed, fists coiling on the tabletop. Yakov pointed a hand at Victor across the table, like he were directing. Like Victor was over-rotating and needed Coach Yakov to put him back into place. ‘You’re losing yourself to this. More than that, you’re losing your skating.’  
  
‘What if I don’t care about the skating?’ Victor bit back heatedly, knowing the words weren’t right the moment they were out but not caring. Yakov’s face paled, but then it flushed colour again as he clearly gave into the frustration Victor knew Yakov had to be just dying to indulge in since he’d gotten Victor alone in the first place.  
  
‘Your career is all you have, Vitya,’ Yakov said slowly like Victor were being particularly dense. Victor laughed this time, bitter and throwing his head back.  
  
‘I don’t need reminding of that,’ Victor said through his teeth, thinking of the medals that sat in his own apartment, gathering dust. He waved a hand around the kitchen. ‘It’s all you have, too, by the looks of it. We should save the rent if we’re both going to live in empty houses.’  
  
Victor looked back at Yakov, wondering if perhaps he had gone too far. But Yakov was still giving Victor that same, impassive look he always did when he felt Victor was beyond scolding. If anything, the lack of response only irked Victor more and he slapped a hand down on the table. The noise of it opened between them like a mouth, swallowing the anger fuming there. Yakov took a breath, nostrils flaring but when still said nothing, Victor pushed harder.  
  
‘I want more than this,’ Victor said, embarrassed to notice that his voice was shaking. But no tears- not yet. He wondered if Yakov could sense it though, the hurt that bubbled up inside of Victor from where Yuuri had screwed it into place the night before. ‘And if Yuuri is offering to give it to me, then I will take it.’  
  
‘Desperation is not a good path for you, Vitya,’ Yakov said solemnly and Victor gasped, stung.  
  
‘Yuuri is not an act of desperation,’ he hissed, anger simmering now and Yakov raised an eyebrow at him. ‘I’m not choosing him because he’s all there is. I’m choosing him because he’s all I want.’  
  
Yakov seemed to think about that for a moment, his mouth going slack and for one, stupid moment Victor thought he’d gotten through to the old man somehow. But then Yakov turned hard again, frost blooming in a winter morning and Victor braced himself. Yakov shook his head as he spoke, English growing thorns in his mouth and again, Victor worried if he’d ever sounded so ugly in his English to Yuuri.  
  
‘I wish you could see,’ Yakov said quietly, more to himself at first it seemed but then his voice grew stronger. ‘Have you learned nothing from the last time? Have you not learned to keep that heart of yours better?’  
  
Victor’s throat choked on the words he was going to say, Yakov’s words biting and tearing at old wounds. Victor closed his mouth, burned with embarrassment as he felt the corners of his eyes grow hot. Yakov’s face softened again, sympathy pooling in the lines of his wrinkles but Victor only grew more frustrated; outraged that Yakov would dare show weakness after an attack like that before Victor could even offer a defence.  
  
But Victor offered one anyway.  
  
‘Yuuri isn’t like that,’ Victor said, but doubt coloured his words. He thought of Yuuri the night before- Yuuri’s hesitance, his absence. But Victor held the mantra close, held it like it might shield him. ‘Yuuri isn’t that kind of person.’  
  
‘That man is selfish,’ Yakov said and Victor ran hand through his hair, nervous and annoyed.  
  
‘You don't even know him,’ Victor breathed, anger shaving the words down in his mouth. Yakov scoffed again, as though Victor were a child having a tantrum.

‘And you think that you do?’ Yakov replied angrily. He waved a large hand, frustration obvious. ‘You're living in a fantasy at best. Delusion if you think that man loves you.’

‘Why? Because of what he does?’ Victor said, repulsed by Yakov’s attitude. ‘You're so cruel. How dare you judge him for that?’

‘It's not because of what he does but what he is!’ Yakov retorted and Victor frowned, confused. Yakov sighed, running a hand over his face. ‘People like him, Victor. Like Lilia. There is a sadness there you cannot rescue them from. Something goes out when they leave their art; you cannot replace that for them.’  
  
As Yakov said it, Victor saw Yuuri in his memory like tracks on the ice. Victor saw the dark shimmer in Yuuri’s eyes as Yuuri watched the rink, the corner of his mouth pointed down in counter. He saw Yuuri’s small frown in sleep, muttering in words Victor couldn’t understand as he dreamt of places he did not share with Victor. He saw Yuuri’s blank face when Victor told him he was loved, like such a thing were impossible to consider.  
  
‘Yuuri is not Lilia,’ Victor said, resolute but shaken by the things he remembered. Yakov looked at Victor like he looked at Victor in most things- disapproval hanging from his mouth downturned and eyebrows tight together in frustration. And that damn sympathy again. Victor tightened his fists. ‘And I am not you. I would not let Yuuri go without a fight.’  
  
‘You can’t fight something like that,’ Yakov said sagely, looking down at his coffee. He leaned on the table now, shoulders sagging. He looked older than Victor knew him to be and Victor wondered again, feared, if this was the future that awaited him also. Feared that if Victor were ever to get the ring around Yuuri’s finger, would it grow cold in a drawer somewhere like Yakov’s now did.  
  
‘I won’t leave him,’ Victor said firmly. Yakov looked up, meeting Victor’s eye.  
  
‘No. No, I didn’t think you would,’ Yakov said and there was something in his voice, something about the look on his face that made Victor feel like he’d walked right into whatever trap he’d been trying to avoid. ‘You never choose the easy way, do you?’  
  
‘No,’ Victor said, with pride. He stood up, pushing the chair back and ignoring the way his back ached in protest. Yakov closed his eyes, looking resigned. ‘I’m going home. Forget about lunch.’  
  
Yakov said nothing as Victor went to leave. Victor thought, cruelly but to himself, if Yakov was as silent when Lilia left him, too.

* * *

   
Victor couldn’t get to sleep that night.

He tossed and turned in the empty sheets of his own bed, Makkachin abandoning him entirely when it became clear that Victor wasn’t going to settle anytime soon. Victor told himself it was simply nerves for what he had said to Yakov and having to face the old man the next day, but not even in the corners of Victor’s own head could Victor convince himself that was true. Victor rolled over in his bed, staring at his phone on the bedside table.  
  
Snow was falling outside, shimmery shadows that had the whole room looking like it was submerged beneath the surface of rippling water. Victor watched it for a while, forcing himself not to stare at the blank screen of his phone. He hadn’t bothered to close the black-out curtains, instead leaving the shifting voile bare to watch the streetlight.  
  
Yuuri had promised they would talk again soon. Yuuri would come to Victor when he was ready. Victor trusted Yuuri. He did.  
  
(Victor tried not to sound stubborn, even within his own head).  
  
Tapping his hand along the edge of the mattress, Victor listened to the quiet rumble of a car from the street below. The soft breathing of Makkachin from her own bed in the corner of the room. Trying not to think of Yuuri. But it was proving quite impossible. Victor watched the way his window-sill grew spots from the shadows of snow and thought of the way Yuuri tended to bite his lip when he was thinking. How Yuuri would frown without his glasses. The sound of him laughing.  
  
Victor glanced back at his phone on the bedside table. He knew he shouldn’t. Told himself not to as whenever Victor did, he just ended up feeling worse. Then he reached out for it, swiping it open before bringing up Yuuri’s website again, for what must’ve been the millionth time since his dismissive text, since even before then. The only photos Victor had were the ones Yuuri had for everyone or the blurred screenshots of Google images.  
  
Only the website didn’t load. It came up as _unfound_ and Victor frowned at his phone from the pillow, confused and stomach swooping uncomfortably as he refreshed once, twice. But still, nothing appeared. He tried a straight search after, but nothing came up. The website didn’t even list as a result option.  
  
A thought crossed his mind, things starting to come together in his head now that Victor really looked at it. On that suspicion, he scrolled through his contacts and found Yuuri’s professional number. He hit call and waited, unable to contain the smile that unspooled like string when he heard an English voice telling him the number was disconnected.  
  
Victor held the phone to his chest, staring straight up at the ceiling and heart pounding.  
  
This couldn’t… well, it couldn’t mean- could it?  
  
Of course. It all seemed so obvious now that Victor thought about it.  
  
Yuuri had said he was sorting things out. Now his website was gone. The number disconnected, too. Victor grinned, turning over to bury his face into his own pillow as he might a small noise of excitement.  
  
At the Rostelecom Cup, Yuuri hadn’t answered Victor’s request to quit escorting. Admittedly, when Victor had asked he’d been riding the adrenaline of the skate, of having Yuuri there. But once he’d done it, Victor hadn’t found it in himself to regret it. Victor knew it had been a little insane to ask, but now it seemed that Yuuri had taken him up on the suggestion. Suddenly Victor didn’t feel quite so bad about the phone call or how rude he’d been with Yakov. Because Victor’s doubts were melting away in the face of what Victor felt was truly right about the situation.  
  
But there was nothing else it could be. Yuuri was quitting escorting, he had to be. And Yuuri wouldn't do that, not unless he was taking what they had been through in Moscow seriously.   
  
The thought lit like a fire inside of Victor, something so bright not even the sour words Yakov had thrown at him could dampen the burn of it.  
  
Yuuri and he hadn't had the most orthodox of starts, Victor never being one for the ordinary to begin with. But something quiet, domestic and remarkably normal now lay before him and Victor felt with a sharp stab of that hot, heavy emotion Yuuri inspired in his heart the excitement of that, too. Not since he was just coming into his twenties had Victor thought of such things, but here he was, lying in bed and thinking of his future. His and Yuuri’s future.

Victor was still practicing, but he would throw his heart into loving Yuuri like Victor threw it into everything. He would keep his promise and be what Yuuri needed. Carry Yuuri in the pocket of his heart if Victor needed to to get them to that warm, private life that was now opening itself up to them.  
  
Victor had always been warned he was too much of a romantic. Past experience had taught him generally that tended to end badly for him, something Yakov often reminded him of. But this time, it seemed the tentative balance between happiness and risk had been met just right.

Victor bounced a little in his bed, thinking of when he would get to see Yuuri again at Barcelona. He was probably going to try and surprise Victor. Victor could see Yuuri’s bashful smile already, memory vivid like sequins and booming music in Victor’s heart. In the yellow, Spanish sun, they'd greet the world together. Victor could hardly wait as he finally felt himself begin to sleep.  
  
Victor had a lot of practice with offering his heart out and letting it get caught in a crossfire, but finally, it now seemed he was getting it right.

* * *

_  
  
Two weeks later..._

 

* * *

  
Four hundred and thirty miles away, Yuuri collapsed against his own bedroom door and sank to the floor.

Yuuri thought he would have time.  
  
Time to figure something out. Time to come up with a solution, a way around what Yakov had asked of him. But as each day passed, the inevitability of what Yuuri had to do had risen before him in a great wave- absolute, inescapable and submerging. It flooded his every thought, poured out of him in tears and frustration. In the weeks that had passed, Yuuri had even pulled back from Phichit, forcing his friend to focus on the Grand Prix that lay ahead of them. And now Yuuri sat in the well of that sacrifice, feeling like his heart was too small to carry the weight of it anymore.  
  
All around him, Yuuri’s room lay in disarray. Boxes torn open, wardrobe open like a wound. Clothes were piled onto the bed, sleeves trailing over it on the floor as they spilled over the narrow ends of it. Silk and velvet, expensive Italian cotton and fine European leather all tangled together where Yuuri had thrown them. Hotel key cards, old receipts. Bundles of odd things, silver bracelets and other fancy gifts from years of professional encouragement.   
  
Hours Yuuri had spent, tearing his way through his life to pull Eros out of it like a splinter. Eros was blown apart around him, in simpering, expensive debris and Yuuri wondered if he would ever be able to put himself back together.   
  
Two weeks ago, Yuuri made a decision. Yuuri was going to end it; he was and some distant, foolish part of Yuuri really thought that it would be enough to solve everything if he did that first. If Yuuri took the danger away, maybe, there would be a way to escape the corner Yakov had backed him into.  
  
But there wasn’t a way out. Yuuri knew that, he truly did and the more he pulled at his clothes and tore at the boxes he hadn’t unpacked yet, the less it became about finding a way to escape and the more it was just Yuuri lashing out at everything he had done.  
  
There was no one to blame but himself. And now, Yuuri was out of time to think of a way to save everyone.  
  
When Victor had last called him, after Yuuri had tried avoiding him since Moscow, Yuuri had panicked. Had tried to ignore the flashing of his phone, the ache in the pit of his stomach that the guilt of ignoring Victor had given him. But he just couldn’t ignore it, didn’t want to ignore it, anymore. And hearing Victor’s voice had felt like slipping in the warm, salted waters of the baths back home. Enveloping warmth, all around and reaching the chill fear had given Yuuri in the small corners of himself he’d buried.  
  
Yuuri had tried to pass Victor off, tried to make light of what was happening. He had tried not to let go of Victor like Yuuri knew he had to. And Victor had taken what Yuuri offered because he, (like Yuuri knew he would), wanted to believe that what they had between them would survive.  
  
And despite how cold Yuuri had been that day, Victor still texted him after. Simple things, just to let Yuuri know that he was still there. That Victor was still waiting and Yuuri could take as long as he needed. And every one Yuuri cherished, re-read until his eyes burned with the light of his phone in the dark. Every day, Victor delivered. Victor trusted Yuuri, trusted him like Yuuri had never been trusted by anyone. Victor loved so easily, easier than Yuuri thought anyone should and when Yuuri had taken it, had a finally accepted it back in Moscow, Yuuri had sworn to himself to protect that. How stupid, Yuuri had been. How naive, how blind. Victor was just...  
  
Yuuri understood, of course he understood. But he also knew what Victor didn’t, what Victor couldn’t.  
  
Victor or Phichit.  
  
Phichit’s career, everything he’d ever worked for. The nights Yuuri would spend, toes going cold as Yuuri would wait for Phichit to finish in the rink. The mornings of coffee and stale muffins from the university cafeteria, the birthdays and Christmases where Yuuri would have Phichit’s skates sharpened, replaced. Costumes re-sewn, hot chocolate when Phichit could come home. The smile of Phichit’s face, every time.  
  
Years and years of friendship, of the comfort of having someone who would love you in a way family couldn’t quite achieve, no matter how understanding. Of having someone who would know you, could know you and all the ugly things you tried to keep hidden and love you anyway.  
  
Victor could’ve been that. Victor could’ve been even more, if they had had ever the chance to try it- but right now, there was Phichit. Phichit was already here and he had to be worth more than the promise of something Yuuri knew, deep down, he likely didn’t deserve to have in the first place.  
  
Yuuri felt tears, bit his lip until it bled.  
  
There was no warmth this time, no pull to answer as Yuuri looked at the phone in his hands where it flashed from Victor calling him now. This time, there would be no way for Yuuri to dance around it. No way to buy any more time where he could pretend, delude himself, into thinking he could fix it. No chance of making the selfish choice.  
  
There was only one thing left to do. Yuuri couldn’t save Victor’s heart, couldn’t save his own either. But he could save Phichit.  
  
Yuuri would save Phichit and maybe some day, far into the future, Victor would forgive Yuuri for it.  
  
With a deep breath and his mind made up, Yuuri answered the call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so.... so.... hungover
> 
> A gorgeous song for this fic, written and performed by the extremely talented slightlied from Victor's POV: https://forovnix.tumblr.com/post/164869516836/raise-ur-hand-if-uve-been-personally-victimized
> 
> Incredibly amazing and highly adorable art by bullfish of Yuuri and Phichit from the last chapter: https://bullsfish.tumblr.com/post/163792754099/i-dont-give-a-fu-flipping-hamster-who-he-is
> 
> Playlist for the characters in this AU by the utterly lovely 0anhonestpuck0: http://0anhonestpuck0.tumblr.com/post/163587931114/another-playlist-for-the-yuri-on-ice-fanfic
> 
> Beautiful moodboard and really good playlist by the deareliza: http://deareliza.tumblr.com/post/163326880141/moodboards-inspired-by-victorsporosyas


	15. Are You in This, Too?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yuuri fights alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning:**  
>  Anxiety, panic attack symptoms. References to suicide.

Yuuri thought he would feel guiltier about lying to Phichit. But nothing, not even regret, could penetrate the empty, hollow feeling of dread that opened inside of him. It sat under Yuuri’s ribs, rested on top of his stomach like a hole. Yuuri held his arms across his stomach, like he might quell whatever bled from that dark, cold place.

Yuuri felt like he was being drained, siphoned emotion pulled from the needle pricks of what had happened until Yuuri was left with nothing but a gaping numbness. It ate his words until he was silent, took his thoughts until Yuuri felt like he had practically slept the whole day while awake.

This first day back from Moscow, Yuuri hadn’t been left alone all day.  
  
Yuuri had never felt so small, weak and insignificant as he did in his kitchen at that moment after telling Phichit about Mark, Phichit’s arms wrapped tightly around him as the emotion that had been thick in Yuuri’s throat since he’d gotten Yakov’s call had erupted out of him, cascading shivers down to his fingertips so Phichit had to hold Yuuri steady. They had been tied up in the kitchen for a while, Yuuri’s mistakes pressed between them.

It was like clay expanding, pushing between Yuuri’s ribs until he couldn’t breathe. Hardening there, into something cold and brittle that threatened to snap Yuuri apart.

Now, Phichit had placed his own phone face down on the coffee table, (nothing short of a divine testament of Phichit’s affection, Yuuri knew), Phichit’s attention solely dedicated to Yuuri and the Netflix marathon they had embarked on in an effort to distract Yuuri from the “break up”. The break up that hadn’t happened. Or at least… not yet.  
  
Yuuri had wanted to tell Phichit everything at first. The truth was stuck in the back of his throat- a bitter pill, refusing to be swallowed. Phichit was right there. But that thought was the spark to something volatile- as Yuuri’s mind had burst with the image of Victor’s eyes, his mouth and the feel of Victor’s stubble against Yuuri’s cheek. Suddenly, the grief for what Victor and he could’ve had threatened to overwhelm Yuuri then..

If Phichit knew what Yuuri was feeling, knew what he was giving up, Phichit would never forgive himself. Yuuri couldn’t risk his friend’s happiness like that, couldn’t risk the safety Phichit would happily abandon in an attempt to find justice. Which Phichit would, as that was the kind of person Phichit had always been. If Yuuri fancied himself a shield, then Phichit was a sword to every battle.

He had to let Victor go. Had to tell Victor it was over. Do what Yakov demanded of him, Yuuri knew. Just-

Not yet.

So Yuuri had sat for the hours, almost dozing with jet-lag and misery for the most of it instead. His thoughts circled like a drain, Yuuri completely unable to pull himself from the current of it. Spiraling from the memory of Yakov Feltsman’s face under the glare of airport fluorescent, all the way down to the narrow point of having to tell Victor goodbye.

The television had been white noise, Yuuri’s mind constantly drifting from his own end of the couch, only moving the once or twice to adjust the radiators as the flat grew cold. Phichit attempted conversation a few times, trying to tempt Yuuri to joke on their show. But nothing could stop the loud ticking in Yuuri’s head. The large, long hand of a clock that Yuuri knew he couldn’t reset.

‘Do you think that’s her natural hair colour?’ Phichit commented on the fox-haired secretary that sauntered onto the screen. Yuuri blinked, dazed and fingers twitching against his stomach from where his hands were crossed over it. Phichit shuffled on the other end of the couch as Yuuri turned his focus to the television.

‘No idea,’ he said honestly. Said secretary quipped something with a raised eyebrow and Yuuri wondered, perhaps madly, if he’d ever find it in himself to laugh again. The thought was so distant that Yuuri felt the need to pull it back, like a thread.

Of course he would. Yuuri had broken himself once before and managed to put those pieces together into something new. Yuuri would be something new after this, too.

Yuuri was someone before who he was with Victor, though that person seemed unrecognisibe to Yuuri now. To have thought, for any time while they were together, that Yuuri was more himself with Victor than he might’ve been before was…

It was something. Something too sad to admit to, even now. As now whatever it was, it was over.

'Alright, I'm going to bed,' Phichit announced as the episode ended, giving an exaggerated stretch with one hand reaching up for the ceiling as the other held a small, orange hamster to his chest. 'As invested as I am in this absolutely insane excuse for a law firm, I actually do have to show up to training eventually.'

Yuuri watched as Phichit got up from the couch, hoodie rippling down over his jeans. It was so long on Phichit’s little body, almost like a dress. Yuuri looked at the peeling and faded print of Detroit on the chest, realising too late that Phichit was still talking to him.

‘Sorry?’ he said, looking up to Phichit’s face. Phichit was watching Yuuri very carefully. Yuuri wondered if Phichit could see right through him, Yuuri felt so thin.

‘I asked if you were okay,’ Phichit said gently, hands swimming circles in trying to balance a squirming hamster and his phone. ‘Because if you’re not, I can stay up with you.’

Selfishly, Yuuri wanted to say yes. He wanted to crawl back into Phichit’s bed with him, wanted to bury himself in the comfortable life they’d built around each other. The life that didn’t have Victor in it. If Yuuri could ever remember such a thing, or surrender to it.

The thought alone had Yuuri casting a glance to his phone on the counter, where it had sat silent in direct contrast to his heart which had never seemed to beat louder.

Phichit must’ve noticed.

‘I can stay.’

‘It’s okay, I don’t need you to,’ Yuuri said, smiling and hoping it looked in some way convincing. The way Phichit frowned back at him told Yuuri that he hadn’t quite managed it. ‘I’m fine, I’ll head to bed now myself, too.’

Phichit hovered still and even though Phichit was watching, the knowledge that he would soon be alone had Yuuri looking over to his own phone again. He knew Victor had left messages. Texts, too. Yuuri knew what would be best. He should call Victor the minute Phichit was in bed, delete the messages before he let them change his mind and tell Victor it was over. But just the thought had something heavy lodging itself in Yuuri’s throat. Yuuri worried his lip, unsure and unwilling.

‘You don’t have to answer his messages you know,’ Phichit said abruptly and Yuuri jumped in his skin, caught. He turned back, looking at the way Phichit’s dark eyebrows were tugged together in the middle.

‘I’m sorry?’ he said, confused and Phichit inclined his head towards the kitchen.

‘Victor. You don’t have to deal with it tonight,’ he said, shuffling N̂ảtāl in his hand as the hamster squeaked from impatience. ‘I know you haven’t had a break up before, but you’re definitely allowed to ignore your asshole ex. It’s what I did to mine.’

‘I remember,’ Yuuri said and Phichit actually laughed. It sounded so strange. ‘But it wasn’t a break up. And Victor isn’t my ex… anything.’

‘Hate to tell you, bud. But yeah, it totally was and yes, he definitely is,’ Phichit said and his smile was so infectious, Yuuri felt himself give way to it and smile back. ‘See, you’re feeling better already. Don’t go spoiling that by listening to whatever shit he’s left on your WhatsApp.’

‘Okay, I won’t,’ Yuuri said, because it seemed like the thing to say. Phichit shifted awkwardly on his feet then, smile dropping and Yuuri felt the anxious knot that had swollen inside him since yesterday with Yakov go taut again. ‘What? What is it?’

‘Nothing!’ Phichit said, much too highly and Yuuri’s anxiety grew teeth.

‘You’re a terrible liar,’ he said and Phichit laughed again, but this time it was less convincing. N̂ảtāl squeaked again from Phichit’s hands, which Phichit used as an excuse to look away from Yuuri’s gaze.

‘You know, for normal people, it’s a compliment to be a bad liar,’ Phichit joked, eyes still on the furry distraction in his hand but Yuuri was in no humour for jokes.

‘Don’t,’ Yuuri warned, old wounds opened by the insinuation. Phichit blushed, brown cheeks turned pink. Yuuri was not sympathetic. ‘There’s something else.'

Phichit looked up, teeth just visible between his lips with a breath. Yuuri’s hands turned to fists.

‘Phichit.’ The living room was silent, not even traffic outside. Even N̂ảtāl sat still. ‘Please.’

‘I need to tell you something,’ Phichit admitted slowly and Yuuri bit his lip, confused and suddenly, very nervous.

Phichit shucked a sleeve back on one hand, hamster balanced in the other as Phichit held his phone up. Yuuri stared at it for a moment, before looking back to Phichit for an explanation.

‘Don’t freak out, okay? But Victor messaged me earlier.’

Yuuri’s heart stopped.

‘What?’ Yuuri whispered, completely thrown. ‘When?’

‘About one o’clock?’ Phichit replied sheepishly and Yuuri got up from the couch, knees trembling. Phichit gestured with his phone. ‘He DM’d me on Twitter. And I swear, I only replied because I just wanted him to leave you alone!’

‘What did he say?’ Yuuri asked, something blooming warm from that dark, dreading hole in his chest.

Did Victor know what happened? Was it possible he’d figured it out? Yuuri knew he shouldn’t, but the hope was uncontrollable from where it sprouted. Then, Yuuri stopped himself.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘You were so miserable!’ Phichit said and Yuuri couldn’t find it in himself to deny it, though it nettled it somewhat. ‘I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to reply to him. Which you don’t, by the way-’

‘Phichit, I know! I know! Just show me what he said!’ Yuuri snapped, losing patience with Phichit’s coddling.

Phichit froze, obviously taken aback by Yuuri’s unusual rudeness. Yuuri flushed and forced himself to take a steady breath. He licked his lips, wondering if it were possible to suffocate from his own words unsaid.

‘I’m sorry, Phichit. I didn’t mean that.’

‘No, I’m sorry. I just didn’t think- no, I should’ve said,’ Phichit said, shaking his head. Phichit fiddled with his phone, giving Yuuri one more look before Phichit extended his arm out, phone perched on the ends of his fingers. ‘Here you go.’

Yuuri took the phone, hand shaking. He looked at the messages left open, heart in his throat. 

 **Victor Nikiforov~  
** @ **v-nikiforov**

 **12:21PM** _Hey, Phichit! I’m sorry to be messaging you like this, but I can’t get through to Yuuri on his phone. Can you tell me if he got home safe? If you see him, please ask him to call me back._

 **12:37PM** _I know I must seem crazy to do this, but I’m really worried about Yuuri. I just feel like something isn’t right. Please let me know if he’s alright when you see him._

 **12:54PM** _Please, please tell me if Yuuri’s okay. I’m worried about him. Let know, if you can. Please Phichit._

 **13:01PM** Yuuri’s home safe. Please don’t message me again . 

Yuuri wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but reading the messages only pulled the edges of the empty feeling inside of him wider, so that whatever hope he’d bred fell into it. Yuuri held his other hand to his chest, palm up against the beat of his own heart.

Victor was worried. Of course, why wouldn’t he be? Rationally, Yuuri knew he should’ve expected Victor be worried. But still Yuuri found himself surprised. He had been so concerned with how Victor would feel in the future that it never crossed his mind how Victor was feeling then. Seeing the proof of Victor’s concern, spelled out in black and white somehow broke through the wall Yuuri had inadvertently built around himself throughout the day.

Ever since Yakov had left him, Yuuri had been submerged entirely in the depths of his dread at what was coming. Mind racing along to a track of desperation, looking for any option to get out of what he had been asked to do. But now, after hours of forgetting it, Yuuri was finally tethering himself back to Victor and the memory of everything that had happened in Moscow came crashing down on top of him.

Yuuri’s legs trembled. He bent his knees, sinking back down onto the couch.

Victor had told Yuuri he loved him. Yuuri remembered it so clearly now, replaying the memory like a spinning record with every kiss he’d given Victor after, every trace of his hands on Victor’s skin. Yuuri had felt like he could feel Victor write the words on his very soul, etching them with how Victor had smiled, how he’d held Yuuri’s hand. How he’d listened to Yuuri talk about school back in Japan and shared stories of Saint Petersburg back.

How it was so addictive a thing to be told he was loved- so heady and gorgeous in its warmth that it banished the chill Yuuri had gotten from his guilt of not saying it back.

How could Yuuri have forgotten what this felt like? To have Victor Nikiforov love him?

Carefully, Yuuri put Phichit’s phone back on the coffee table. It sat there, screen bright as Yuuri closed his eyes to it, Victor’s voice in his ears and the ghost of his kiss floating in Yuuri’s memory like driftwood.

‘Yuuri-’

‘It’s fine, Phichit,’ Yuuri said, opening his eyes and getting up off the couch again. He headed towards the kitchen, lost in thought.

‘No, it isn’t. You’re upset,’ Phichit said accurately from behind him. Yuuri ignored him, picking up his own phone.

‘Go to bed, Phichit.’

‘I don’t know if you should be alone right now.’

‘I want to be alone. Please.’

‘Yuuri, I-’

‘Just go!’ Yuuri finally snapped, shutting his eyes and clutching his phone. Yuuri waited, breathing hard through his nose as he listened to Phichit shuffle behind him. The pad of Phichit’s socked feet across the apartment floor. Yuuri held onto it, the control until he heard the click of Phichit’s door. Then, once he was alone, Yuuri let go.

Eleven missed calls. Seventeen new messages. Yuuri swayed on his feet, tears catching him by surprise as he opened Victor’s messages. He read all of them, eyes burning as he choked over his own sob when it crept up his throat. Victor’s messages descended down into desperation, evidently abandoning any pretence of composure around the eighth message.

 _If someone has hurt you, tell me. I will stop them. Let me help_ , one read and Yuuri stopped reading for a moment as it saw it, overcome with everything. If only Victor knew, would he still help? Would Victor really stand up to Yakov Feltsman, after everything Yuuri knew they had been through and who knows what he didn’t, and take Yuuri’s side?

Victor had only known Yuuri a couple of months. What was that to a childhood, a career, a lifetime?

Yuuri closed the phone, feeling nothing but the truth of his own insignificance. Yuuri didn't have much experience with medals, but the weight around his throat grief gave him made Yuuri think, perhaps madly, that maybe he'd never have been able to raise his head with one anyway.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri didn’t get out of bed for three days after that.

He cancelled the two or so appointments he was booked for, then turned his BlackBerry off before anyone could complain about it. It sat in the top drawer of the bedside table, shut away as Yuuri spent the next few days in a cocoon of blankets, not even finding the will to adjust his own radiator as the November chill started to swell around Detroit in frostbite.

Even with the phone out of sight though, Yuuri still felt it. The repulsion he’d never felt for work before. The idea of being someone else suddenly didn’t hold as appealing as it always had, the idea of smiling and being wanted even less so. Maybe it was what Yakov had said, the tone of derision he’d used. But truly what was turning Yuuri’s stomach, what had him crying into his pillow at even the closest thought to work, was the knowledge that Yuuri was already wanted.

A beautiful, kind and talented man wanted Yuuri and Yuuri wasn’t allowed to want him back. The feeling of that threatened to be so big that Yuuri could do nothing but cry when he thought of it, the misery pouring out of him until he was spent, falling away into uneasy sleep.

Yuuri’s dreams were hot and blurred- steamed at the edges, so he couldn’t remember if Victor’s touch in those half-remembered, dark places were kisses or burns. Yuuri would wake up hard against the mattress, the ghost of Victor’s body against him and the heartache putting the fire of arousal out before it ever got the chance to warm the chill of Yuuri’s dread.

The first day, Yuuri had feigned sleep as Phichit knocked on his door. Phichit let himself in, hovered as Yuuri continued to ignore him. Carefully, Phichit had reached out, touching Yuuri’s hair for a moment and Yuuri almost broke, almost turned like a corkscrew in his own bed and told Phichit everything. But the moment had passed, Phichit leaving for training and Yuuri sitting in the dark of his room, with nothing but his own sadness for company.

By that third day, Phichit had simply resorted to knocking on Yuuri’s door to announce he was heading to training. He did not knock when he came back.

Yuuri slept in a haze, tossing around in the uneven waves of dreams and anxious imaginings. And when he was awake, Yuuri stared at his phone on the bedside cabinet, where it was digging a grave for itself to settle as Yuuri waited for Victor to text.

And Victor did text. Often, though not as much as that first day when Yuuri still could not bring himself to reply. Yuuri read every one as they came, too selfish for Victor’s attention to dare ignore them. They varied, from idle good morning to evident frustration boiled over. And Yuuri could hear Victor’s voice in every one of them, could remember the bite of Victor’s teeth on his lips.

Sometimes, Yuuri came close to replying, outlining messages in head. But then fear, cold and absolute, would grip him as Yuuri had visions of Yakov somehow seeing his messages. Of him glancing at Victor's phone, of seeing that Yuuri hadn't filled his end of the bargain yet.

 _I know you’re there,_ Victor sent on the third day. _Tell me what’s wrong. Let me help!_

 _Am I coward?_ Yuuri thought as he scrolled back through Victor’s messages, heart and mind pulled taut across each other like laces. Yuuri knew the answer, but it didn’t stop him.

Replying would set into motion something Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to face. When Yuuri thought of what he would have to do, the lethargic dread that had settled in Yuuri would constrict, wound tight like clockwork. He couldn’t put it off forever.

On the fourth day, Yuuri waited. Victor did not text, though his phone did ring.

Yuuri didn’t recognise the number. Sitting up, Yuuri answered, voice croaking; ‘Hello?’

‘Well, look at that. He lives!’ a woman’s voice chimed down the line and Yuuri’s mind groaned into gear, recognising Sophia’s voice too late. ‘And just where the fuck have you been?’

‘Sophia?’ Yuuri said, confused. ‘What do you want?'

Sophia huffed down the phone at him. ‘Well, that’s nice. How about _hello_ or _how’re you?_ I know English is your second language, kid, but you’re going to have to do better than that.’

‘Ah,’ was all Yuuri could manage, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Right. Sorry. I just mean- I just… I’m sorry, but why did you call? You’re only supposed to use this number for emergencies.’

‘I consider you vanishing off the circuit for almost two weeks to be a certifiable emergency,’ Sophia replied, tone snappy and Yuuri sighed, decidedly not in the mood for an American temper. ‘I tried your work cell, but you aren’t picking it up. Or did you have a problem with this phone, too?’

‘It’s off,’ Yuuri replied dully, casting a glance at his bedside table like it had somehow betrayed him. ‘Please forgive me, Sophia. But I really can’t face work talk right now.’

Sophia was silent then and Yuuri half-considered that to be the end of the conversation, wondering if he could get away with hanging up altogether. But then Sophia was speaking again, voice lower and more careful.

‘Did something happen, honey? I know you went away on that big job-’ Yuuri flinched at the memory. ‘But honestly, you haven’t seemed right for a while. If there’s something you need me to do, someone you need me to look into, I will.’

‘No, it’s nothing like that. I just, well, it’s…’ Yuuri stopped himself, suddenly realising that he genuinely did not know what to say. He thought about Phichit, about Eros. And Victor. Always back to Victor. ‘I’m working through something.’

‘You’re working through something?’ Sophia repeated, her voice high on the vowels in nasal skepticism. ‘Eros, babe, I’m sorry. But coming from you, that sounds awfully like a suicide note.’

Yuuri winced at her coarseness. ‘It’s not a suicide note.’

‘It’s no fucking comfort either.’

‘I’m not working,’ Yuuri admitted sternly, impatience bleeding through. ‘Not right now, not-’ Yuuri just stopped himself from saying _ever,_  and that realisation gave him pause.

Not working, ever again. Yuuri fidgeted with his duvet cover, bunching the fabric between his fingers. Was that an option? Yuuri’s chest grew narrow in the centre, not enough air coming through.

‘I’m taking a break,’ Yuuri said, voice breathless down the phone.

‘A break?’ Sophia replied, obviously dubious by her tone over the network static. ‘Eros, you’re you. You don’t take breaks.’

That was what Yuuri’s old ballet teacher used to say, back in the balm heat of Japan. He could still picture Minako-sensei so clearly; her long hair and angular hips tilted in perfect reflection by the barre mirror.

‘Please don’t call me again,’ Yuuri said, hanging up before he could think any better of it.

The phone didn’t ring again, like Yuuri knew it wouldn’t. Sophia wasn’t like Victor, what she needed from Yuuri was not the same. He wasn’t dead or dying. Her guilt was alleviated, he was sure. Yuuri held onto his phone, trying to catch his breath as it suddenly seemed too hard to find.

Something broke then. Yuuri couldn’t say what, exactly. But he pushed the covers off himself and headed straight for his en-suite, tugging off his sleepshirt and boxers as he went. Under the hot spray of the water, Yuuri tried to slow everything down. He leaned against the tiles of the shower, arms wrapped around himself. He pressed the tips of his fingers into the meat of his arms, nails biting as the water turned his skin red. Yuuri stared up at the ceiling, fogged and white.

There was something prowling around him, taking slow steady steps of sureness but Yuuri was too afraid to look it in the eye yet. He sank to the floor of the shower, knees to his chest. Yuuri sat there until the water turned cold.

Victor did not text that day.

 

* * *

 

When Yuuri walked into the kitchen, Phichit was there.

Phichit was leaning against the counter as something simmered in a pot on the stove, eyes fixed on his phone. Yuuri stood between the kitchen and living-space awkwardly, Phichit not noticing his presence yet. Yuuri swallowed carefully, straightening his glasses and about to speak when he spotted the white of a soft wrist bind on Phichit’s hand.

‘What happened to you?’ Yuuri asked and Phichit jumped, phone almost falling from his hands.

‘Jesus fuck!’ Phichit gasped, flailing to get a grip on his phone before it hit the floor. Yuuri watched, walking into the kitchen with purpose now. Phichit sighed dramatically, holding his phone to his chest like a mother would hold a child. ‘Don’t do that to me! Are you actually trying to kill me?’

Yuuri flushed, hovering in front of Phichit as Phichit stood up straight, running a hand through his dark hair. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.’

‘Well, congratulations. Looks like growing up next to a ninja castle rubbed off on you,’ Phichit teased, but his smile was tight. It made Yuuri uneasy. Yuuri glanced down at Phichit’s hand again, but Phichit was moving to address his pot, eyes down. ‘I was boiling myself an egg for breakfast. I didn’t think you’d be up, so I’m sorry. I didn’t make one for you.’

Yuuri opened his mouth, before closing it again. He held up a hand, unsure of what to do with it. Phichit’s shoulders were tense, gaze fixed on poking the egg in his pot around with a wooden spoon. Yuuri felt like something just wasn’t fitting right between them, but he wasn’t sure how to address it. He waved off Phichit’s apology instead, offering to make them both coffee.

It was unusual, for them to be together but not speaking. Yuuri could feel Phichit watching him as he moved about the kitchen, fishing out their mugs and the instant coffee. Yuuri felt strangely exposed, clad in his sleepwear as Phichit stood in his kit, ready for training. Yuuri wished too late that he had gotten dressed. Maybe Phichit would wait for Yuuri to do so, so Yuuri could join him to the rink.

‘So,’ Phichit said at last, word stretched out as he fished his egg out onto a plate. ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘I’m okay,’ Yuuri lied, pouring hot coffee into their mugs. ‘Did you get milk?’

‘You sure?’ Phichit pushed, offering the milk he took from the fridge out to Yuuri. ‘You look like you’ve been crying.’

Yuuri froze in his milk-pouring, watching the liquid swirl. ‘You know me. There’s a reason everyone thinks I’m a big cry baby.’

‘No one thinks that,’ Phichit said firmly and Yuuri looked at him, surprised by Phichit’s tone. He blinked, carefully replacing the lid on the milk.

‘Um. Thanks,’ Yuuri said awkwardly, wondering why the conversation felt so heavy between them. Guilt tugged at him and Yuuri wondered, selfishly and with fear, if Phichit somehow knew he had lied. Would Victor have messaged again? Did Phichit know something Yuuri didn’t?

They sat at the island, sipping their coffee silently as Phichit made his way through his breakfast. As Yuuri was watching him, his attention was brought back again to the soft bind on Phichit’s wrist.

‘Your hand,’ Yuuri started, inclining his head. Phichit paused in a bite of egg, casting a glance at Yuuri across the island counter. ‘What happened?’

‘Just fell in training,’ Phichit replied, smiling ruefully as he ate his egg. ‘You know how it is. That rink is an absolute bitch, especially after the hockey team tear it up. It’s not sprained or anything, Ciao-Ciao just thought it’d be a good idea.’

‘You fell?’ Yuuri frowned, putting his coffee down. Phichit sat up straighter, grinning across at Yuuri.

‘Well, someone has to now you’re not there,’ he replied, raising an eyebrow and suddenly, as Yuuri’s sympathy dipped significantly, it was very easy again. Yuuri huffed, wounded by Phichit’s teasing and Phichit laughed as Yuuri sulkily took a sip of his coffee. ‘I just tripped over on the edge. My own fault, wasn’t paying attention.’

Yuuri gave Phichit a look. ‘Did that girl from the fencing team come by the rink to watch the hockey players again?’

‘I’m not answering that.’ Phichit grinned over his egg, holding up a finger to display his point. ‘But if she was there, she definitely wasn’t looking at the hockey team.’

Yuuri laughed, the sound so alien it startled him. Phichit looked at him, grey eyes keen as Yuuri tried to hide his own surprise.

‘Well, at least you won’t have to worry about her watching you in Barcelona,’ Yuuri said with a shrug, Phichit humming loudly to himself as he finished off his egg. ‘You should really be more careful though. The Grand Prix isn’t far now.’

‘Actually, she does speak Spanish, or at least on her Instagram anyway. Think I could convince Leo to teach me a few things?’ Phichit said hurriedly, completely ignoring what Yuuri said. Yuuri bit his lip, nervous.

‘Phichit-’

‘Because like, English is good. But I think I could definitely score some brownie points with Spanish, you know?’

‘Phichit!’ Yuuri said, waving a hand to shut Phichit up. ‘Forget about fencing girl for a second. You should take this fall more seriously.’

Phichit scoffed. ‘Skaters fall all the time, Yuuri! You should know. It’s really not that big of a deal.’

‘It is if you fall so bad you need a sling,’ Yuuri pointed out, nodding to Phichit’s hand. Phichit waved Yuuri off with it, as if displaying his point.

‘It’s not a sling!’ Phichit replied needlessly. Yuuri sat and waited, turning his mug between his hands. Phichit ran a hand through his hair, other hand pushing his phone around the counter. ‘I should’ve landed better. I know that, okay? Ciao-Ciao’s already given me the scolding you know, I don’t need one from you.’

‘I’m not scolding you,’ Yuuri said softly as Phichit took his phone up in earnest, scrolling through something. It seemed he just didn’t want to look at Yuuri anymore. It hurt more than it had any right to. ‘I’m just worried.’

‘You and me both,’ Phichit replied miserably, sighing deeply before putting his phone away. Phichit crossed his arms, leaning them onto the counter as he still didn’t meet Yuuri’s eye. ‘The Grand Prix is so close, Yuuri. And my base score only just meets the barrier of everyone else’s.’

‘Your base score is more than suitable,’ Yuuri said kindly, but Phichit threw him a dark look.

‘Have you actually seen my competition this season?’ Phichit asked and Yuuri had never seen Phichit looking so serious before. It was… unnerving. ‘JJ’s really strong, Yuuri. And Pilsetsky is supposed to be unreal. He’s almost as good as Victor Nikiforov, and I’m stuck competing against all of them!’

How Yuuri felt at hearing Victor’s name must’ve shown on his face, as when Phichit looked at him again, Phichit’s face paled. He gaped for a moment, before sitting up and reaching out, taking Yuuri’s shoulder in his hand.

‘Yuuri, I’m sorry!’ Phichit said, squeezing Yuuri’s shoulder. ‘I didn’t mean to talk about him.’

‘No, no,’ Yuuri replied weakly, shaking his head. ‘Don’t be, I’m just being-’

A coward. Weak. Careless.

The words rattled around in Yuuri’s head, with a voice that lilted like Yakov Feltsman’s.

‘Stupid,’ Yuuri settled on, attempting a smile. Phichit grimaced back at him, getting off his stool so he could pull Yuuri against him in a hug.

‘Come to the rink with me,’ Phichit said and Yuuri couldn’t find it in him to say no.

As Yuuri threw some training clothes into a gear-bag in his bedroom, he stared at his phone where it sat silent and empty on the bedside table. He walked over, taking it up into his hand. He unlocked it, opening messages. Nothing from Victor, for the first time in days. Yuuri hovered, unsure.

But something bold sparked inside of him. Maybe it was inevitable, this pull like gravity that brought Yuuri circling back to what he knew was waiting for him. Or maybe he was just feeling reckless, unable to contain the roiling emotion he held for Victor any longer. Like it were a bomb Yuuri could possibly contain when it went off. Whatever it was though, it had Yuuri typing before he could think anymore about it.

 **11:44AM** I’m sorry for being MIA. Working through something. I promise we’ll talk soon. Good luck in training. 

Yuuri hit send, heart so heavy is nearly sank through him entirely. Yuuri kept it as innocuous as possible, anxiety projecting images of Yakov somehow having Victor's phone and seeing the message. But it was done now. Yuuri had finally set it into motion. Yuuri almost replaced his phone on the bedside table, before thinking better of it. He shoved it into the pocket of his hoodie, throwing the gear-bag over his shoulder.

There was no holding back from this anymore. Yuuri couldn’t protect Victor any longer. Phichit was what mattered, Yuuri knew that. And after training, Yuuri would call Victor and he would end it. And then- then Phichit would be safe.

 

* * *

 

 

‘Well, at least you didn’t fall this time,’ Yuuri offered, trying to sound optimistic. It came out flat though as he and Phichit skated to the awning.

‘That’s because there’s no one here to distract me,’ Phichit panted, throwing himself half over the rink-wall when they made it. ‘You’re cute, but you’re not fencing girl cute.’

Yuuri tried a smile, but his heart wasn’t in it. ‘True. But you’ve haven’t kissed fencing girl, so if anything, I deserve more attention.’

‘I really hate you,’ Phichit sighed with a grin, one hand holding himself up against the plexiglass of the rink-wall. Yuuri leaned against it too, glutes screaming from the unplanned workout. But it was nothing compared to Phichit, who had been running suicides.

‘That’s not very fair,’ Yuuri replied distantly, mind constantly wandering. Phichit kicked his skates against the ice to knock off build up. ‘It’s not my fault Ciao-Ciao’s trying to kill you.’

‘You’re not exactly defending me here.’

Yuuri’s breath caught, his mind supplementing the double meaning instantly. It felt like dropping suddenly into cold water. He looked at Phichit, realising that he hadn’t answered yet. Yuuri swallowed, mouth dry.

‘I’ll do better.’

Phichit grinned, face sweating. ‘I should hope so. C’mon, I need some water before I die altogether.’

They skated over to the exit, Celestino sitting not too far off with his thick, brown eyebrows together in concentration as he regarded the notebook he was holding. Adjusting Phichit’s sequence, Yuuri suspected. He had overheard them talking about it when lacing up. Celestino gave them a quick smile before turning back, pen moving over the paper awkwardly from where the notebook was perched on his knee.

Yuuri and Phichit sat on the bench with their bags, Phichit fishing around for his water bottle and Yuuri using it as a chance to take out his phone. No new messages. Uneasiness made itself known- a thick, leaden feeling at the back of Yuuri’s throat. Yuuri bit his lip, tugging on his chapped skin as he unlocked and then relocked his phone.

‘Do you think it’s bad sportsmanship to hope JJ will elope before the final?’ Phichit said with a slight cough, water going down the wrong way. He pulled his gloves off, hands shaking.

‘He’s only getting married if he wins gold,’ Yuuri replied, distracted by re-reading the older messages Victor had sent him. Phichit huffed.

‘He’ll marry his girlfriend if he wins gold. I’m sure I can convince him to marry himself for far less.’

‘Hmm,’ was all Yuuri said, before he jumped back in shock, head colliding with the concrete wall. _‘Kuso!’_

‘What?’ Phichit asked, startled as Yuuri stared down in horror at his phone. ‘What is it?’

Yuuri said nothing. He just stared at the flashing notification that Victor was now calling him, focus narrowed down it. Phichit looked over Yuuri’s shoulder, gasping when he saw what was happening.

‘Don’t answer it,’ Phichit said sternly, almost reaching for Yuuri’s phone before evidently thinking better of it. Instead, he put an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and held him steady. Only then did Yuuri notice that he was shaking, his body quivering against Phichit’s body heat. Vision blurring, chest heaving. ‘You don’t need to.’

‘I- I don’t know,’ Yuuri said and it was true. He didn’t think Victor would call. Reply, yes. But this was so soon. Yuuri needed to be alone, needed time to get himself together so he could think of a way of to even begin convincing Victor. Yuuri’s breathing turned ragged as the phone rang out, only to immediately start ringing again.

‘Yuuri. Yuuri! Breathe,’ Phichit said, as Yuuri bobbed his head to his own panicked breathing, phone shaking in his hand. Phichit reached out, taking the phone this time and hanging up. ‘Ignore it.’

‘I can’t,’ Yuuri said, knowing it to be true but not able to convey it to Phichit.

It was so hard to think, Yuuri’s mind clouding over like he was suddenly falling beneath the surface of some heavy water. He couldn’t breathe, the cold air of the rink turned to a sting in his lungs.

‘I need to answer it.’

‘No, Yuuri. You don’t,’ Phichit said firmly as the phone started to ring again. Phichit gave it a distasteful glance. ‘He really doesn’t know how to quit does he?’

No, Yuuri wanted to say. Victor didn’t know how to quit and never in a thousand years would Yuuri have ever thought that such single-minded focus, determination and attention from Victor Nikiforov would ever be directed at him.

Yuuri felt sick, anxiety curling nausea in his stomach and up his throat in burn. He choked on his breath, not sure what to do with his hands. He needed more time. But there wasn’t any more time, Victor was calling now and Yuuri had already decided, hadn’t he?

‘G-give me the phone, Phichit,’ Yuuri said, voice low with nervousness. Phichit hesitated.

‘Yuuri, I’m not letting this asshole give you an anxiety attack just because he thinks he’s entitled to your time,’ Phichit said, his anger so evident that it stopped Yuuri’s mind in its tracks. He stammered, looking over at Phichit and seeing his dark eyes brewing like storm clouds. Phichit’s mouth was set in a firm line, displeasure pulled tight between his lips. ‘If you want to talk to Victor later, then do. But you’re in no fit state right now.’

 _Weak_ , a voice snapped in Yuuri’s head and suddenly, the anxiety broke over him into something hot and angry. Phichit thought he was weak, thought Yuuri couldn’t handle his own mentality. But Phichit didn’t know anything. How could he? Yuuri snatched the phone out of Phichit’s hand, standing up in his skates.

‘I know what I’m doing Phichit,’ Yuuri said, voice even. Phichit clicked his tongue.

‘I’m not saying you don’t, but Yuuri, look at you! You’re freaking out!’

‘I have to go,’ Yuuri replied, turning on the edge of his skates and making his way towards the locker room. Phichit called after him, but Yuuri ignored it. He kept walking until he was alone in the locker room, door swinging shut behind him.

Yuuri stared at the phone, at Victor’s name. Then-

‘Hi,’ Yuuri said, pushing the hair out of his face. Pushing it back, like he would wear it for work. There was silence on the other end and Yuuri quickly checked to see he hadn’t cancelled the call by mistake. ‘Victor?’

Then Yuuri heard it, Victor’s voice and all the air in the room vanished.

‘You fucking asshole,’ Victor snapped, words slurring so strongly that it took Yuuri a second to realise Victor wasn’t actually speaking Russian. Yuuri teetered in his skates, caught off guard.

‘What?’ he asked, stunned. ‘Did you- did you just call me an asshole?’

‘You disappeared! Who does that, Yuuri?’ Victor replied angrily and Yuuri flushed, not quite able to catch his breath. Yuuri was expecting Victor to be angry, but this was so much and so fast. Yuuri didn’t know what to do. He never did well with people yelling at him. ‘You can’t just do that. It’s not nice.’

‘Not nice?’ Yuuri repeated dazedly, shaking his head as the room blurred around him. He thought of Phichit outside, how he worried Yuuri was having an attack. Yuuri swallowed his nervousness, determined to stomach it.

‘Yes,’ Victor continued, his voice sounding like it was coming from further away. Maybe he was moving the phone, or maybe Yuuri was just losing it. ‘Normal people don’t just vanish and ignore their boyfriend for a week.’

Yuuri whimpered, breathing shallow. He needed to sit down.

‘Do you even know how to be around normal people anymore?’ Victor said cruelly and Yuuri immediately thought _no_. Yuuri winced to himself as he put his back to a wall of lockers, sinking down so his knees were folded in front of him and back straight.

Yuuri had to do this, he had to. But even though Victor was angry, even though Yuuri knew there was nothing he could do about any of it, there was something holding Yuuri’s tongue. If Victor could just give Yuuri a moment, a moment to take a step back and detach. Remind himself that Victor’s voice was not enough, that none of it would be enough.

‘Victor, I think-’

‘Because if you don’t, then that’s something we should work on,’ Victor continued, but his accent had gone thick again. Sticking down the receiver so Yuuri was straining to listen.

There was a distinctive _clink_ of glass down the line and Yuuri’s thoughts stuttered to a halt as something came to his mind. Victor huffed down the phone.

‘Yuuri? Have you disappeared again? That was fast, even for you.’

Yuuri ignored the jibe, licking his lips.

‘Have you been drinking?’ Yuuri asked, disbelieving. Victor shuffled on the other end as Yuuri tilted his head back, staring up at the yellow ceiling.

‘Why are you so you?’ Victor replied, sounding particularly petulant and Yuuri groaned, frustration boiling over.

‘You’re drunk,’ Yuuri snapped, though he didn’t mean to sound so angry. It took him by surprise, but once it was out, Yuuri found he couldn’t quite pull it back. Yuuri ran a hand over face, squeezing his eyes shut. Yuuri couldn’t do this with Victor drunk. It wouldn’t be fair.

(A small, dark part of Yuuri’s mind suggested that it might easier though and the guilt of thinking such a thing rendered Yuuri silent).

‘Maybe! So what?’ Victor practically yelled down the phone, Yuuri holding it a little ways from his ear until Victor calmed down.

‘I’m not talking to you when you’re drunk,’ Yuuri said wearily. Victor made a noise of impatience.

‘You’re not talking to me at all. What difference does being drunk make?’

‘Victor, please,’ Yuuri said irritably, torn in two distinct pieces between hanging up on Victor, or letting Victor yell at him for hours just to hear his voice. ‘We shouldn’t do this now.’

‘Do what? Why are you ignoring me? What’s going on?’ Victor babbled, words tied together in the accent Yuuri had fantasised about for years. All the _w’_ s down to sharp edges that got stuck in Yuuri’s ear. ‘You’re not supposed to ignore me. Breaking a few boyfriend rules there.’

‘I know,’ Yuuri answered quietly, cheeks flooding hot as he realised that he was going to cry.

All of it was just too much. Too much of Victor’s voice, too much of all this feeling Yuuri had that he was too afraid to name. It was too cruel to name something before giving it away.

‘Talk to me,’ Victor pushed, voice soft like an embrace and it was like he knew. Knew how hurt Yuuri was and knew how much Yuuri was yearning. ‘Please talk to me.’

What did Yuuri say?

If Phichit was a sword and Yuuri the shield, what did that make Victor in Yuuri’s narrative? All Yuuri knew for certain was that when Yakov had threatened him, he had never felt more certain of anything then that Yakov would follow through if he felt he had to. Yuuri didn’t want Yakov to feel like he had to. Hearing Victor now, his concern and his frustration washing over Yuuri like some great wave, Yuuri knew with swift certainty, that if he told Victor the truth, Victor would help him.

But Yuuri was also sure that despite it, Victor would not be enough to stop Yakov in time. Would Yuuri take that risk? Could he?

‘I can’t do that, Victor,’ Yuuri whispered, closing his eyes as tears sprung hot. He needed to end this now, before Victor managed to convince Yuuri around without even knowing. Yuuri needed to do this on his own terms. ‘We can’t talk with you like this.’

‘You’re going to break up with me,’ Victor replied dully and Yuuri sucked a breath in, surprised by Victor’s perception. ‘You are, aren’t you?’

Yuuri pulled at his bottom lip with his teeth, feeling like he’d been kicked in the stomach.

‘Asshole,’ Victor swore and Yuuri groaned, deserving it. He leaned forward, forehead to his knees and held his phone so tight his fingers started to tremble. Victor was still speaking, but Yuuri couldn’t listen. It was like a ringing, in his ears as the locker room around him shrank. Walls closing in, dark corners that tugged like thorns.

‘Go to bed, Victor,’ Yuuri said through his teeth, tears dripping down his nose.

‘Don’t hang up!’ Victor replied loudly, startling Yuuri before he lost his way entirely. Yuuri raised his head, wiping at the snot of his nose. ‘You answered me. Eventually. That means that what happened in Moscow must’ve meant something to you, too.’

Yuuri’s heart folded in half, bringing his grief of the last few days and his eager hope together like hands in prayer.

‘Of course it did.’

‘Stop running scared then! You said you were sorting things out?’

Yuuri pushed tears away. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘It’s supposed to be, Yuuri,’ Victor muttered down the line, accent strong as his impatience bled over. Yuuri knew he deserved it, but there was something very fragile inside of him that cowered under Victor’s frustration. ‘Besides, it’s not like things with you have ever been easy.’

‘Then why’d you bother with me?’ Yuuri asked, thinking distantly how differently things would’ve worked out had Yuuri never accepted Chris’ favour all that time ago. If Yuuri had seen Victor and instead of walking blindly into the fantasy, had done the sensible thing and left.

What would Yuuri be then, if Victor had never happened?

Would Yuuri still have watched the competition streams, heart longing for something that was unattainable? Nights and then months, of never knowing what Yuuri could’ve had, losing himself as he always did to work and the anonymity it gifted. Would there have been someone else, eventually? Someone who could get under his skin the way Victor could, could pull Yuuri’s thoughts apart and string them back together. Loop threaded affection and determination around Yuuri’s neck like the medals he had for so long yearned to achieve.

Yuuri didn’t want there to be someone else. Not eventually, or ever.

‘I don’t know much clearer I can be after Moscow,’ Victor admitted, voice dropping as Yuuri listened to him shuffle on his end of the line. Yuuri could picture him so clearly, having experienced Victor’s body stretched out and lounging.

‘You did just call me an asshole,’ Yuuri pointed out, an unusual calm blooming. Victor laughed and it set Yuuri’s heart on fire.

‘I can call you an asshole and still be in love with you,’ Victor replied and nothing could’ve prepared Yuuri for Victor saying that again. He missed what Victor said next, heart pounding his ears.

Yuuri’s legs were beginning to ache from the position, skates heavy. But he sat, frozen and spiralling around the sole truth that Victor loved him. Victor loved him.

Did it make Yuuri ungrateful to the love he already had in Phichit to want what Victor was offering so badly? Yuuri felt somewhere that maybe it should, but the guilt never came. Phichit was not a lover- the way he and Yuuri lived around each other was familiar and easy, but balanced between the strong walls of their own lives. Their own attention. Victor was not that kind of love and though Yuuri had never thought that such thing would be so appealing, staring down the extended hand of it, Yuuri had never wanted so badly to accept something.

‘Why did you call me, Victor?’ Yuuri whispered, selfishly hoping Victor would say the words again as Yuuri was too afraid to ask for them.

‘Do I need a reason to call you?’ Victor said, voice swinging up and down on the vowels drunkenly. ‘Is that how you work? Is that why you haven’t called me? You didn’t have a reason?’

‘Something like that,’ Yuuri said, disappointed. Victor was quiet then, the most quiet he had been so far. Yuuri should hang up. He should hang up. He should-

‘I miss you,’ Victor said at last and Yuuri’s free hand balled into a fist so tight, his nails punctured.

 _I love you,_ Yuuri had wanted but what Victor said knocked all the air out of him anyway.

Yuuri missed Victor, too. Missed him in a way that he had not allowed himself over the last few days. But the wound opened now, affection run rampant and Yuuri let himself drown in it. Missing Victor, adoring him and listening to him and knowing Victor loved him felt so damn good. The best thing Yuuri may ever have had.

‘I miss you, too,’ he said truthfully, tears pulling the words heavy. Victor hummed, the noise reverberating and it shook Yuuri’s bones. Yuuri’s heart curved, the line of a wing extended and made a decision that seemed inevitable. Yuuri chewed on the words for a moment. ‘But we shouldn’t do this. Not now. I have to work something out.’

‘Like what?’ Victor asked and Yuuri almost told him, the truth too much hold for one brief moment.

But Yuuri didn’t, a determination brewing that had seemed too impossible before.

Phichit was Yuuri’s responsibility, the threat Yakov held to his throat made out of Yuuri’s mistakes. And Yuuri was not weak, no matter how often he forgot it. Yuuri could do this, he could save everyone and he could do it himself. He was not the same nervous, nineteen year old kid who cried his heart out in the bathroom so terribly he lost it. Yuuri was someone else now. Someone older, stronger and someone who would not let Victor’s love go to waste any longer.

‘Later,’ Yuuri promised, conviction holding him steady. He needed to go, he needed to get started. He stood up, skates stuck to the foam of the floor. He knocked against the lockers, wiping his face from tears.

‘Wait! Don’t go yet!’ Victor said and Yuuri sighed, selfishly impatient.

‘I have to go, Victor.’

‘Then pretend you don’t!’ Victor tried flippantly and Yuuri could picture him waving a hand so clearly. Yuuri shook his head, fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt.

‘Victor, stop,’ Yuuri said sternly, trying to calm Victor down enough that he could hang up. Victor grumbled down the phone and Yuuri pinched his nose. ‘You shouldn’t have called.’

It was true, but Yuuri only half-meant it. Victor’s voice was in his ear, so close. Like they were almost together.

‘I had to call.’

‘Why?’ Yuuri asked, already knowing but wanting Victor to say it.

‘I just- I just wanted to hear the sound of your voice,’ Victor replied lamely, English awkward and Yuuri’s mouth fell open. Alright, maybe he didn’t know after all.

For the first time since the ice, Yuuri smiled. He even almost laughed. Victor Nikiforov, surprising him. Again.

‘I promise we’ll talk soon, Victor,’ Yuuri said, meaning it but Victor laughed derisively. Yuuri couldn’t blame him for that, but it still stung. Yuuri wanted to ask Victor to have faith in him, to try and even have more faith in him than Yuuri had himself. ‘But there are things I need to do. Please understand.’

A plan was slowly coming together in Yuuri’s head. It was barely anything, but it was enough for Yuuri to choreograph his next move to.

Victor clicked his tongue and it sounded like a stone across the line. When he spoke, he sounded tired; ‘I think I do.’

Yuuri waited, but Victor didn’t say anything else. Yuuri hovered, fingers tangling in the hem of his t-shirt as he balanced on the edges of his skates. Yuuri wondered what Victor looked like, if he was home. Yuuri opened his mouth once or twice, chickened out. And then tried again.

‘Will you be alright?’ Yuuri asked, not wanting to leave Victor drunk and miserable. Not that he had much of a choice in doing so.

‘Probably not,’ Victor said and Yuuri wanted to touch him so badly it was an ache.

‘Victor,’ Yuuri breathed, overwhelmed with the emotion Victor inspired in him. Yuuri leaned back against the lockers, feeling selfish. ‘My Victor. I promise you, everything is going to be fine.’

As Yuuri said it, the determination inside him galvanised.

‘I promise,’ he said one more time, hanging up the phone before Victor could say anything else.

The locker room was filled with a hum from the air conditioning, alone but for the sound of Yuuri’s breathing. Yuuri stayed a long while after, thinking of what he had to do. The calls he’d need to make and the work ahead of him once he got home. But it was the only way, it had to be. Yakov had Yuuri outgunned- so Yuuri was going to take the ammo right out of chamber.

‘Phichit!’ Yuuri cried once he managed to feel composed enough to go back to the ice. Phichit was talking to Celestino over the rink-wall, both of them interrupting what seemed to be a heated discussion to look at where Yuuri was waving. Phichit glanced at Celestino before skating over to Yuuri.

‘Hey,’ Phichit said, smiling but it dropped once he got closer. He reached out, with the hand in the bind to brush at Yuuri’s hair. ‘Your eyes are red.'

Yuuri ignored the statement for the question it really was. ‘I’m fine, but I think I’m going to head home. Is that okay?’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Phichit said, retreating his hands to the rink-wall. He tossed his head in Celestino’s direction. ‘Ciao-Ciao will probably prefer it, to be honest. I gotta focus, you know?’

‘Of course,’ Yuuri said, feeling a stab of shame for keeping Phichit from his training. He leaned over the awning, wrapping his arms around Phichit’s body and tugging him forward into an awkward hug. Phichit fell against him with a soft oof. ‘You’re going to be great. Just do what you always do.'

Yuuri paused.

'Actually, watch your speed on the triple. You keep slowing down for some reason and I think that's why you under-rotate for the double.'

'Oh,' Phichit said, muffled against Yuuri's shoulder. 'Thanks. I'll watch that!'

'I’ll make dinner.’

‘You don’t have to-’ Phichit started but Yuuri shushed him, pulling away.

‘I want to,’ Yuuri said, smiling at Phichit’s confusion. ‘But I have to do something first.’

 

* * *

 

 

The next week passed in a strange blur.

Phichit was gone early, Yuuri often missing him. But when he came home in the evenings, Yuuri tried to have a meal plan approved dinner ready as consolation for no longer joining Phichit at the rink as moral support. Even on Phichit’s days off though, Yuuri was too busy himself to spend much time with him.

The day Victor called, Yuuri had come home after and went straight to his laptop. From there, he temporarily closed his website and then called Sophia.

‘I thought you said don’t call you again,’ she had quipped, but she hadn’t hung up. ‘I didn’t get the impression that meant you’d call me.’

‘Sophia,’ Yuuri had said, determined. ‘You said if I needed help, to ask. Well, I’m asking.’

‘This sounds serious.’

‘It is,’ Yuuri had agreed, watching the snow fall outside his bedroom window. It was getting so cold now. ‘I need you to help my liquidate my shadow and then erase my domain as well.'

There had been a long silence after that, but soon Sophia had burst into questions. Yuuri answered them best he could, skirting around the obvious query of whether or not he was in any trouble with a skillful deflection that nothing legal was hovering over him. Sophia continued to push though, agreeing only after Yuuri upped his original offer by twenty-percent if she promised to stop asking him about.

‘Alright, but I want to ask you one more thing,’ she had said and Yuuri rolled his eyes, tempted to strike her down to fifteen-percent but not really having the gall to try. ‘You’re quitting, that much is obvious. And I’m not going to ask you outright why, because you’ve always been a secretive little fuck and I know you won’t tell me.’

Yuuri had balked at that, offended. Sophia continued, uncaring for her rudeness.

‘But I need to say this, otherwise it’ll haunt me,’ Sophia had said and Yuuri had crossed his legs on his bed, the snow falling outside. ‘Not a lot of people are cut out for this work. It’s tough. There are people walking the same road with no shoes, if you know what I mean. But even at this level, it can be hard, you know? And you’ve always shown a talent for it, and for a while, I really thought you enjoyed it.’

‘I did,’ Yuuri admitted, Sophia humming almost in song in agreement.

‘Yeah. Thought so,’ she had said, tone wary. ‘Just be sure that this thing you’re doing- quitting? Be sure that you’re doing it for you. Not because someone else wants you to.’

Yuuri had thought then that maybe Sophia knew more than she was saying, but she hadn’t continued with an accusation.

‘It’s not like that,’ Yuuri had said, truthfully. ‘I guess I’m just trying to figure out what kind of man I need to be. And I can’t do that while pretending to be someone else.’

Sophia had said nothing for a long time before laughing, shrill and familiar. ‘Can’t argue with that.’

The process was going to be long. And arduous. Lots of visits to the postal office and Yuuri’s various banks, collecting and re-assigning information for Sophia to use in terminating his shadow company. Cancelling appointments, touching base with other escort services to possibly take on his clients. When they were one in the same, Yuuri had never noticed how much of his life had actually belonged to Eros. But now, as it was broken down around him, Yuuri realised just how lost to it he was.

Some nights, Yuuri wouldn’t sleep, the fear of what was facing him too daunting. It wasn’t about the money- Yuuri had more than enough money, and most of it would be sent safely back to Japan. But Yuuri would roll over in his bed and stare at his wardrobe, picturing the clothes that lay inside. When Yuuri had first quit skating, even looking at the sequins of his old costumes had felt like dying. This was something else altogether, but perhaps just the other side of the same coin.

But something was always there to keep Yuuri grounded and it was Victor.

If Yuuri did this, if Yuuri could wipe Eros away like frost then there would be nothing to threaten Phichit with. Nothing that Yuuri couldn’t get around, with Victor’s help anyway. And Victor would help, once Yuuri told him. Yuuri was sure. This one thought burned like a candle, lighting Yuuri’s way out of the dark tunnels of his anxiety.

On the 29th of November, Yuuri awoke to the bounce of Phichit on his bed.

‘Okay, your depression is officially over!’ Phichit announced as Yuuri jumped in the sheets, panicked by the rude awakening before his wits slowly began to gather around him.

‘What-?’ was about as far as Yuuri got before he took in the blurry, brown image of Phichit lifting his feet up onto Yuuri’s bed, settling himself there and definitely sitting on one of Yuuri’s legs. ‘Oh. It’s you.’

Phichit gave what Yuuri knew to be a withering look from his perch at the edge of the bed, all judgement in his bright red t-shirt. Yuuri felt that red was just too vivid for him right now so soon after waking and he closed his eyes again, resting his head against the pillow.

‘Charming,’ Phichit replied, far too brightly for the no doubt obscene hour of the morning.

Yuuri wiggled, getting his leg out from under the folded body of Phichit as Yuuri reached one hand under his pillows in a half-hearted attempt to find his phone.

‘No good morning kiss then? And you call yourself a professional.’

Yuuri ignored that, tugging his hand impatiently as it got caught on a loose corner of the sheets when he pulled his phone from them. He tapped Home. Just past twelve in the afternoon… maybe not so obscene an hour after all.

 _‘Kuso_. It’s late.’

‘What does that matter? You always sleep in late! It’s a really bad habit, you know.’

‘You’re just jealous,’ Yuuri grumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

Thankfully, Phichit hadn’t opened the blinds so the room was still mercifully dark enough for Yuuri to still feel the itching weight of sleep lingering. Phichit hummed, clearly not paying much attention. When Yuuri looked at him again, arm strewn over his own head, Phichit was scrolling through his phone.

‘Is there a reason for this?’

Yuuri suspected the reason, but he had hoped on making it to twenty-four without ceremony.

Phichit looked up from his phone and gave Yuuri a considering once over. Yuuri shifted in the sheets, squirming with self-consciousness.

‘What? What is it?’

‘Are you naked?’ Phichit asked blithely, as though such a thing were a normal question to ask his flatmate. Yuuri blushed, trying to tug the blankets up to cover his bare chest. But they snagged- stuck under Phichit’s bony backside no doubt.

‘No,’ he said with whatever dignity Phichit hadn’t managed to take off him yet. Which was true, as Yuuri had the decency to wear some flannel bottoms.

‘Shame,’ Phichit said with a wink and Yuuri threw him as dirty a look as he could manage being only half awake. ‘Now I get nothing in return for what I’ve brought you.’

Yuuri paused in his scrambling, watching Phichit again. He could make out that Phichit was feigning innocence, but that was more Yuuri’s own appreciation for who Phichit was as the room was still quite dark and he hadn’t bothered with his glasses yet.

‘I told you not to get me anything.’

‘Tough shit, did anyway,’ Phichit said, pointing with his phone to the bedside table.

Yuuri looked at the odd shape on the table with blurry suspicion. Giving in to the fact that his sleep in, however generous, was definitely over now, Yuuri fumbled around for his glasses that were resting by the lumpy package, shoving them on as he flopped back down onto the pillow. Phichit scrolled on his phone, offering no explanation.

‘What is that?’ Yuuri asked, taking the bait as Phichit cast him a glance. The parcel was roughly the shape of a rectangle and wrapped in what looked to be a new tea towel. Yuuri could see Phichit beginning to smirk already, teeth perfect in the low light.

‘Banana bread,’ he replied happily, like it were obvious. Yuuri frowned, opening his mouth and then closing it.

‘Uh,’ was about all Yuuri had to say on that. Yuuri reached out, undoing the carefully wrapped tea towel to indeed reveal a loaf of what smelled like banana bread. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

Phichit looked up from his phone, mouth open in mock horror. ‘You don’t remember? Oh my god. My best-friend, my platonic soulmate and the inheritor of my hamsters should I ever perish, doesn’t remember the banana bread encounter.’

Yuuri sat up, still holding the banana bread and already concerned about the crumbs that were dropping off it into the sheets. It was awfully crumbly- were they supposed to be? Yuuri considered this as he heard a camera shutter go off. He looked up at Phichit with a frown, watching as Phichit swiped a finger across the screen. No doubt picking a suitable Snapchat filter for Yuuri’s confusion.

‘Are you going to explain the banana bread?’

‘Nope. Too busy being heartbroken that you don’t remember the significance of the banana bread.’

‘Right,’ Yuuri grumbled, kicking his feet to shove Phichit far enough away that Yuuri could get out of the bed. ‘Well, come be heartbroken in the kitchen. I want breakfast.’

‘Lunch,’ Phichit corrected happily and Yuuri grabbed a t-shirt from the floor, hating him.

Said lunch ended up being the banana bread that Phichit had apparently made, the pair of them sat on the couch with Phichit’s Apple Music chiming over the Bluetooth speaker. They talked about skating mostly, Yuuri replying to the messages his family had left for him with birthday wishes as Phichit told Yuuri that he had been right about the speed for the jump combination at the end of Phichit’s free-skate, _Terra Incognita._

‘Ciao-Ciao said he’d buy you a drink in Barcelona,’ Phichit said, tossing a purple grape up to try and catch it in his mouth. Seemed he was taking advantage of his hand no longer in the bind. He missed, the grape vanishing over the side the couch. ‘When we sorted that, it was honestly the happiest I’ve seen him all month.’

‘I didn’t sort it,’ Yuuri said distractedly, staring at his phone as he had somehow forgotten the kanji for banana halfway through a text to his sister. After a second, it came back to him. ‘You’re the one skating it. So you’re the one who sorted it.’

‘Can’t you just take a compliment? Jeez, it’s your birthday!’

Yuuri sent the message to Mari just as one came in, from Sophia. He opened it immediately, Phichit’s words fading away.

 **13:46PM** _It’s all officially in process. As of next month, you won’t have a company anymore. Your website has been removed and the domain sold. I also cancelled your number. You’re officially not Eros anymore. Enjoy life, hun!_

Yuuri stared at the words until they started to blur, barely remembering to type out a quick and sincere _thank you_ in reply. When he looked up from his phone, Phichit was watching him carefully. Yuuri blushed, embarrassed by Phichit’s attention and knowing why.

‘Is it him?’ Phichit asked, arm still slightly raised in what would’ve been another attempt to toss a grape into his mouth.

Since that day in the rink, Phichit had avoided Victor’s name at all and any costs. Yuuri tugged at his lip, locking his phone. Phichit pressed on; ‘Does he know it’s your birthday?’

‘No. And no,’ Yuuri said, reaching over towards the coffee table to poke at the crumbs from his slice of banana bread. Just for something to do that wasn’t look at Phichit’s suspicious face. Phichit said nothing else though, so Yuuri chanced a look. Phichit was watching him, bundle of grapes sitting on his lap but ignored.

‘Okay, then.’

Yuuri fidgeted as they both fell silent, Phichit plucking absently at his grapes.

‘It wasn’t Victor,’ Yuuri said, readjusting himself on the couch so his legs were crossed and he was facing Phichit head on.  Phichit put the grapes on the table, mirroring Yuuri’s position. ‘It was Sophia.’

Phichit’s eyebrows knotted together for a moment, before his face cleared. ‘The private investigator?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Oh. So is she checking someone out for you?’ Phichit asked, his voice carefully neutral and Yuuri felt a huge surge of affection for him. He smiled at Phichit, shaking his head.

‘No, kind of the opposite,’ Yuuri said and he pulled at his knees, stretching the muscles on his inner thighs. ‘She’s helping me quit.’

‘Quit?’ Phichit repeated slowly, frowning at Yuuri. ‘Quit what? Quit escorting?’

‘Yeah, kind of,’ Yuuri said and Phichit’s look of confusion grew. Yuuri waved his hands in front of himself, a little manically. ‘Well, no. Not kind of. Definitely. Yes. Quit escorting.’

Phichit opened his mouth, then closed it again with another frown. Then Phichit looked away, head shaking slightly.

‘Wow.’

Foreboding settled on Yuuri’s shoulders, nerves curling tight. Yuuri wasn’t exactly sure what he had been expected but it certainly wasn’t… whatever it was Phichit was doing now. Which was nothing. Phichit was not a _nothing_ kind of guy. It was made Yuuri uneasy.

‘I thought you’d be happier,’ Yuuri admitted and Phichit jumped, looking at Yuuri again.

‘Why would you think I’d be happy?’ Phichit asked and Yuuri shrugged, feeling cornered.

‘I… I don’t know?’

‘Why are you quitting?’ Phichit asked firmly, holding a hand up before Yuuri could answer. ‘Is this about Victor?’

‘What? No!’ Yuuri answered, but Phichit didn’t look like he believed him. Yuuri blushed again. ‘Well, not exactly. It’s complicated.’

‘I bet it is,’ Phichit sighed and Yuuri bristled, offended. Phichit rolled his eyes before looking at Yuuri dead on. ‘Why are you doing this? Why quit? Why now?’

‘It just felt right,’ Yuuri said, which was true. Phichit gave him another accusatory stare and Yuuri looked away, nervous. ‘Now’s as good a time as any. And it’ll be easier. For everyone, not just for me, you know?'

‘Who cares about everyone? You shouldn’t quit because someone else wants you to,’ Phichit said, crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded Yuuri with such a strong look of dissatisfaction Yuuri almost felt like he was a child again, being scolded by his parents.

‘You’re… not taking this the way I expected,’ Yuuri admitted and Phichit raised an eyebrow.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I just mean- you know, you were never very comfortable with it so-’

‘God, this again,’ Phicihit muttered, interrupting Yuuri as Phichit put his face in his hands. Yuuri gaped awkwardly, not sure what to say. Phichit sighed, sitting up straight again to face Yuuri. ‘I told you, I’m fine with what you do, Yuuri. I really am. But I’m not fine with you trying to twist yourself into all sorts of shapes just to keep someone else happy. Me included.’

‘I don’t do that,’ Yuuri said weakly but Phichit snorted, giving Yuuri an amused look.

‘That’s literally what you do. Like that’s gotta be the job description for escort!’ Phichit teased, but there was something about the way he said it that had Yuuri wary. Not knowing what to say to that, Yuuri waited, watching as Phichit ran a hand over his face before looking at Yuuri again.

‘Tell me that you’re not doing this because Victor asked you or something,’ Phichit said, looking at Yuuri’s face with the same look of concentration he usually had in training. Yuuri nearly wilted beneath the scrutiny.

‘I’m not,’ Yuuri said, voice just above a whisper. Then again, stronger. ‘I’m not doing this because Victor asked me. I promise.’

‘Then why are you doing it?’ Phichit asked, but he seemed more relaxed. Shoulders dropping as he sat back a bit on the couch. Yuuri tugged at his sweats, thinking.

‘I guess I’m just not happy being someone else anymore,’ Yuuri said, the truth of the statement hitting a little too close to the bone. Yuuri flinched in on himself, feeling exposed in a way he didn’t usually with Phichit. He retreated. ‘I don’t know how else to describe it.’

Phichit was quiet, seemingly thinking that over.

‘Okay, okay. I believe you,’ Phichit then said, sounding more relaxed. He smiled at Yuuri, who just about managed to reciprocate. ‘Do you want to talk about it anymore?’

Yuuri sighed, leaning back against the arm of the couch, spent. ‘Do you mind if we don’t? I’d like to talk about nothing for a while.’

‘It’s your birthday, bud. We can talk about whatever you like.’

They talked about the banana bread, some gossip about old classmates and just how expensive a bottle of champagne Yuuri could con out of Celestino in Barcelona. It wasn’t until much later in the evening, as Phichit was gathering his stuff up to retreat to his bedroom for an early night with training in the morning, that Yuuri realised that what had caught him most off guard about the conversation earlier was how quickly Phichit got upset. Like his patience had already been thinned, which was unusual. It wasn’t like Phichit to snap so quickly, Yuuri realising with some guilt at how much he took that effervescence for granted as he noticed its absence immediately.

‘Goodnight!’ Phichit said, but Yuuri flipped over on the couch to catch Phichit’s eye before he went down the hall.

‘Hey, Phichit?’ Phichit turned, smiling sleepily. Yuuri ran his hands along the back of the couch. ‘Everything going okay?’

Phichit titled his head, before grinning. Like he always did. ‘Yeah, of course! Just beat, you know?’

‘Yeah,’ Yuuri said as Phichit stretched, arms going over his head. ‘I know.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Phichit replied, waving as he turned down the hall. ‘See you in the morning!’

Yuuri couldn’t think of an argument, so he let Phichit go. But it weighed on Yuuri for the rest of the evening, a weight in his stomach he couldn’t quite shift. There wasn’t much he could do though, and even then, Phichit wouldn’t lie to him. If something was wrong, Phichit would say.

Yuuri headed to bed too late, his birthday rolling over like the tide.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri slept through his alarm, palming his phone at around eleven in the morning. Groaning with disappointment, Yuuri forced himself up for a shower. Phichit would already be at the rink by now. Yuuri showered, debating what to do with himself for the day. There were no more forms to sign, no more phone calls to make. The empty day stretched before him, mind heavy with a strange sense of displacement.

Yuuri wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling he swimming in, mind rattling like the shower head. He had nothing to worry about. Sophia had taken care of everything. It was over now. Right?

Wrapped in a towel, Yuuri walked over to his wardrobe, opening it in search of a sweater. He paused as he pushed the hangers around, hands grazing the black chiffon shirt he had worn on his first booking with Victor.

All of Eros’ clothes were hanging together, a spectrum of deep burgundy, blue and black. Silk and satin, expensively pressed and hanging. Yuuri reached out, tracing the soft shoulders of the shirts where they hung, something cold settling in him. What would Yuuri do with these now?

Yuuri had thought he would feel something when it came to this. All the night before after getting Sophia’s text, he had spent waiting for something… well, _something._

A feeling of accomplishment perhaps, or relief. But so far, all Yuuri really felt was aware. Aware of himself, aware of the things that he had leftover from Eros that could not fit into a real life. Unless, of course, Victor wanted those things. Yuuri played with the sleeve of a silk shirt, fabric smooth against his fingers. Victor wouldn’t want these things. That would defeat the purpose of what Victor had asked for. Yuuri frowned to himself, worrying his lip.

It was how they met in the first place, though...

Shaking his head and refusing to give into the trembling nervousness that was rising, Yuuri made a decision. He’d go to the rink and beat the thoughtfulness out of himself on the ice, carve it down until he could hold it captive in one hand. It was what Yuuri used to do back home, what he used to when things just go too much in his first few years in the States.

The reaction was so natural now and the want to be on ice carried Yuuri almost like a dream through the rest of his morning, grabbing a protein bar for breakfast and shoving his skates into their bag.

As he walked down the snow-shining street towards the number fifty-three bus, Yuuri couldn’t help but feel strangely self-conscious. He tugged at the strap of his gear-bag, skates prodding him through the layers of fabric. Everyone he passed, (couples, families and students, scarved and coated for the snow), weren’t looking at him, but Yuuri felt the prickling at the back of his neck anyway. He just couldn’t stop watching them himself- people on their phones, holding hands and slipping on slick parts of the footpath.  
  
Normal, everyday people. Doing normal things. Victor had asked Yuuri if being normal was something Yuuri had forgotten. As he walked, side-stepping snow melts, Yuuri wondered the same thing. The secret Eros was, the anonymity it granted him- Yuuri couldn’t help but feel lost without it there to ground him. Could everyone see it? Yuuri’s awkwardness, his lack of sureness in every step.

What if Yuuri never learned how to be normal, even without Eros to hide behind? What would Victor want with him then?  
  
Yuuri tried very hard not to think about it as the bus rolled him through the Detroit traffic, window fogging up. But it was proving difficult, mind following breadcrumbs all the way back to what had started this whole thing. Yuuri let out a shaky breath, tucking his masked face down into his scarf. Not having Eros anymore _was a good thing._ Yuuri knew this. It just didn’t feel like it yet.  
  
But it will, Yuuri thought to himself firmly. It has to.  
  
Yuuri walked into the rink’s foyer, shuffling his snowy boots on the entrance mat as he pulled his mask down. Yuuri looked up and caught the receptionist’s eye and she smiled at him, recognising him. Jada was her name and her skin was light brown, her hair naturally kinked and pushed back from her face with a bright blue hairband that matched her uniform polo. Yuuri went to walk past the desk, raising a hand to wave to her, but Jada suddenly stopped him.  
  
‘Sorry, Yuuri! No public skating today,’ she said kindly, and Yuuri paused. He shifted from one foot to the other.  
  
‘I’m just heading to Phichit,’ he said, but going by the way Jada smiled sympathetically at him, the explanation did not help his case.  
  
‘I know, but I’m sorry. We’re mid-season right now and I can’t allow someone on the rink without a pass,’ Jada said, twirling the pen in her hand around like a baton. Her green eyes seemed almost coloured in pity to Yuuri and he flushed, embarrassed.  
  
‘I- I can call Phichit, or Celestino?’  
  
‘You wouldn’t fit anyway, babe. They’re sharing with hockey today. You can imagine how well that’s going down,’ Jada replied and it was a dismissal, Yuuri knew. He looked out past her, through the small windows of the doors like he might see the trouble she was referring to. Honestly, the worst that was happening right now was likely Phichit being torn between flirting with the hockey goal-keeper, or fencing girl if she was in the stands.  
  
‘Didn’t they book the ice?’  
  
‘Sure did, but you know the boss would let hockey set this place on fire if they asked. Not very fair, but they’re making do.’  
  
‘Probably best not to bother them, then,’ Yuuri said, disappointment obvious. Jada was still looking unfairly sorry for him and Yuuri found he was deeply uncomfortable with the attention. He pulled his mask back over, feeling very foolish now to be standing at the rink for no reason.  
  
‘I got a studio free?’ Jada suggested, turning to her computer screen. ‘If you wanted to hang until a bit later. Hockey always leave first, maybe you’ll get a chance to skate then.’  
  
‘Yeah, maybe,’ Yuuri said, distracted. Then he thought about it. ‘Actually, yes. That’d be great. The dance one?’  
  
‘If you want it, baby,’ Jada said, looking up and winking. Yuuri blushed again, grateful for his mask. ‘Hasn’t been used today so the heating’s not on. It’ll be freezing, but give it a while and it’ll heat up.’  
  
‘Don’t worry about it, I prefer it colder.’  
  
Yuuri was in the small, cramped dance studio a few minutes later, haphazardly changing into the loose clothes he had brought for skating. Without any dancing flats, the best Yuuri could do were the socks he was wearing. He looked around the space. Floors marked by children’s trainers, mirror still carrying their finger-prints. It was only half the size of the studio he had learnt to dance in back home. Yuuri turned to connect his phone to the basic sound system they had set up in the corner, leaving his glasses resting atop the speaker.  
  
He had set _Swan Lake_ to shuffle, feeling indulgent and when alone, what else was there to be? _Allegro vivace_ filled the room and Yuuri lay down on the floor, not bothering with a mat and stretching himself out. By the time the music rolled over to the next track, Yuuri had already grown impatient and desperate to move.  
  
In first position at the barre, Yuuri rose up and down on his toes. His feet protested at once, not used to the movement and still stiff from skating the other day. Yuuri huffed, frustrated at himself. Since when did plié require such strain? That was what he got though, for taking so long away from it. Yuuri wondered to himself just how long it had been since he’d been in a studio like this. Weeks, easily. Maybe even months.  
  
Yuuri pushed away from the barre on the heel of his foot, turning to face himself. He straightened himself up, forced to look at himself. Yuuri watched his own eyes for a moment, before overcome and looking back down at his feet. He slipped right, into balancé, before retreating back over the same steps as _Valse_ faded in. Arms extended, Yuuri swayed them like reeds in a river. That was what Minako had always said to do.  
  
What would Minako think? To see Yuuri now?  
  
Yuuri found he didn’t like that train of thought very much and as he came down onto tombé, he turned his back on the mirror. The room was still cold. His chest felt tight with it. Yuuri rubbed at his sternum, deciding that what he needed to do was pick up the pace. Heat up his blood and really clear his head.  
  
Feet in fifth position, Yuuri bounced into brisé. And again. Then again as _Swan Theme_ inevitably started to play, forcing him to temper his enthusiasm. The inside of his thighs ached and he’d barely gotten started. Yuuri kicked a socked foot at the air, disappointed with himself. He’d only been skating the other day and it hadn’t hurt at all. If anyone from home were to see the mess he was making of such basic exercises-  
  
No, Yuuri thought. He closed his eyes and let the music wash over him for a moment. Sentimental and romantic. Like Victor, the thought came unbidden and Yuuri smiled to himself.  
  
Victor had never studied ballet, not truly. Yuuri considered this as he swept himself across the floor in chassé. Would Victor show Yuuri what he knew? His arm positions on the ice suggested that Victor knew at least something, though ballet had never been listed formally on his training schedule. Yuuri blushed to himself as he changed direction. He hoped Victor wouldn’t mind the exact depth of investigation Yuuri had done before they had met. Maybe Yuuri could pass it off as Eros-related necessity.  
  
Or maybe that would make it worse. Victor didn’t want Yuuri to be Eros anymore, perhaps going forward Victor would prefer it never came up again. Some secret they kept between them. What would they tell Victor’s friends? Yakov would know the truth anyway, would there be any point in coming with up with a more palatable lie?  
  
Yuuri just caught himself stumbling, socked foot slipping a little too far as the music shifted into _Allegro._  
  
What would Yuuri tell his parents? Would he even tell his parents to begin with? Explaining that he was now, _somehow,_ dating his teenage idol might be a bit far-fetched to begin with. Yuuri pushed his hair out his face, taking a breath that still stabbed with the cold air. Maybe he should’ve asked for the heat to be turned up. Yuuri couldn’t quite catch his breath.  
  
Or maybe he was just that frustratingly out of practice.  
  
_Allegro-Valse_ trumpeted into _Allegro-vico_ as Yuuri took off for a pas de bourée. He sped up, twisting his body in flight, as far up on his toes as he could manage. He wouldn’t have to tell his parents. Not right away, anyway. There were so many other things to sort out first. Victor, for one. Phichit. Yakov. Eros.  
  
No, not Eros. Eros was over now. Over, over, over-  
  
A drum blasted as Yuuri’s foot slipped right across the polished floor, momentum sending him crashing down out of fourth position on the landing. The shock of it hit Yuuri first, the sensation of lying on the floor coming second. He fell. He _fell_ out of a basic pas de bourrée.  
  
Yuuri sat up, facing himself in the mirror. He looked at the mess staring back at him; mismatched gear and red-faced. Embarrassment flooded through him and he leant forward, pressing his forehead to his knees. Yuuri closed his eyes, felt the hard wood beneath him and groaned to himself in disappointment, anxious knot suddenly forming in the back of his throat as he realised too late that tears were forming.  
  
_‘Kuso,’_ he muttered, as it was all he could think of to say. The song sped up around him, playing for a dancer that couldn’t claim it. Yuuri sniffled, ashamed of himself.  
  
He hadn’t danced to this in years, or anything even remotely like it. The dancing he did for work was different; designed for partners and the heat between two people. Or for displaying his own body around the shining pillar of a pole. Ballet was different. Ballet was what Yuuri had learned to see himself as more beautiful, to train himself to be graceful. He felt tears slide down his nose, breath turning ragged. It used to be where Yuuri could find himself, but he couldn’t even find the rhythm to land properly.  
  
Not a dancer. Not a skater either, as he was forcibly reminded. Public, Jada had called him and Yuuri felt the sting now. He was not a skater anymore, had forfeited the title a long time ago. Following Phichit’s shadow around the rink was no different to slipping on Eros’ silken shirts, really. Playing make-believe. Yuuri hugged his arms around his knees, unsure if the empty, falling feeling in his stomach was relief or something more sinister.  
  
What did Victor see in Yuuri? Yuuri was rather afraid that he may just have given up the one thing it had been.  
  
Victor had never even considered Yuuri when he had been a skater, what made Yuuri think Victor would consider him any better outside of the ice rink? Yuuri couldn’t even hold up his own weight, never mind a _pas de deux_ . This was Yuuri’s normal, or least it used to be. And Yuuri couldn’t manage it. If he couldn’t manage his own normal, how was Yuuri going to fit into whatever normal Victor had planned for him?  
  
‘Excuse me?’  
  
Yuuri jumped out his circling thoughts, startled.  
  
He looked up to see a woman standing in the doorway, one perfectly manicured hand holding the door open. She was in a striking blue dress, fitted and expensive looking, and it caught Yuuri’s eye first without his glasses. A long, tan coat was over it and the heels she was wearing looked highly impractical for the weather. Yuuri scrambled to his feet, mortified at being caught so upset by a stranger.  
  
‘Sorry! I’m sorry,’ Yuuri stammered, running over to the speaker to turn off the music as he wiped his face. ‘Do you need the room? I’m so sorry, I was told it was free.’  
  
Yuuri put his glasses on, turning to look over at the woman as he heard her heels click across the floor. He watched her as she walked in, pushing a strand of dull brown hair behind her ear. Like tarnished brass, the way it caught the light. She was very pale and the way her blue hooded eyes took in the room reminded Yuuri oddly of Victor, though she was much older. In her forties, at least.

Yuuri swallowed around his embarrassment, putting his phone in his pocket and starting towards his bag.  
  
‘I’ll get my stuff-’  
  
‘Don’t go,’ the woman said, speaking at last. Her voice was even, almost placid. Yuuri paused, hovering and unsure as she inspected everything but him. ‘It’s you I’m looking for actually, not the room.’  
  
Yuuri’s stomach dropped.  
  
He looked at her again, really looked at her. But Yuuri was sure he’d never met this woman before in his life. A thousand scenarios were running through his head, each more upsetting than the last. Old client? No, he would remember. Wife of a client- could be, though Yuuri had managed to avoid such an interaction so far. Was she an accomplice of Yakov’s? Had she come to spy on him? Yuuri started towards his gear again, heart stammering.  
  
Yuuri tried for blasé, but his voice shook at first. ‘O-oh? Can I help you with something?’  
  
‘I hope so,’ the woman chimed, reaching the barre and touching it with one long finger. She ran it along the line of the wood, then she paused, finally looking up and catching Yuuri’s eye. Yuuri pawed at his face, self-conscious of the tear marks. The woman tilted her head. ‘Are you alright?’  
  
‘Fine, just coming down with a cold,’ Yuuri replied easily, bending down slowly to zip his bag up so to hide his face somewhat. The woman looked at him strangely as he did, like Yuuri were something to be examined beneath a microscope. Yuuri felt his skin goose-pimpling at the thought.  
  
‘Not crying then? You look awfully like you’ve been crying.’  
  
Yuuri felt like he had been punched, the woman said it with such indifference. The remark was too personal and Yuuri felt sure now that there was nothing benevolent in this meeting. He took a steady breath before speaking again, deflecting.  
  
‘Sorry, you said you were looking for me?’ Yuuri stood up, one hand on the strap of his gear-bag. He dug his nails into the woven nylon, shoving his feet into his boots quickly and swaying slightly from the imbalance.  
  
‘Yes, that’s right,’ she replied, leaning back against the barre. Yuuri waited, but she offered nothing else as he straightened up. Some sharp twist of fear went through him, like Yuuri’s anxiety had been whittled down to the point of this woman’s shoe.  
  
‘If it’s about the room, I’m not much good,’ Yuuri said, tiptoeing around his suspicions lest he lose himself to the growing wave of panic that was brewing inside of him. ‘Jada was just doing me a favour, I’m afraid I don’t work here.’  
  
He half-considered holding his hand out, but something about this woman’s demeanour told him that it might not be welcomed. Yuuri thought of Phichit, of how his broad smile could bounce him straight out of a room. Yuuri wished he could be like that, wished to carry confidence like a shield.  But he felt uniquely without something to hide behind.  
  
The woman’s thin lips quirked, just slightly. Almost a smile.  
  
‘Yes, I know. We’ve met before.’  
  
The room chilled and it had nothing to do with the snow.  
  
‘Have we?’ Yuuri asked, panic galvanising quickly.

Client, must be. But Yuuri would rememeber her. He would, Yuuri was sure. The cold nervousness that had burrowed inside of him took root, tight like a coil and Yuuri felt himself shrink with it, backing up against the folded yoga mats stacked against the wall.

‘You don’t even recognise me, do you?’ the woman continued with a smile that didn’t seem quite right. Like it was rigid, something she didn’t use often. Yuuri closed a fist, fingernails digging into his palm as dread curled beneath his ribs, pumping his heart for him.

‘No, sorry,’ he replied, aiming for light but his voice was too small. He sounded weak. The woman smiled again, before looking away. She stepped around in her heels, turning to face herself in the studio mirror. She ran a finger across her lipstick, eyes focused on herself. ‘I- I don’t know what to say. I’m normally much better for these things.’

The woman hummed softly and Yuuri felt like he just failed a test.

‘It’s funny,’ she said in a tone that suggested that whatever it was, she most certainly never found it funny.

Yuuri glanced at the door. He never told Phichit he was here. The woman stepped away from the barre, rested a hand on it as she looked down at her own shoes in the reflection.

‘Ever since the day my world came down around me, I could never get your face out of my head.’

She punctuated each word with her other hand, Yuuri watching the movement like following a metronome as it swung in his direction.

‘And all this time, I didn’t even count as a _blip_ on your radar,’ she finished, before laughing. It was the kind of laugh that reminded Yuuri of funerals. Stilted and out of place. ‘I used to fantasise about all the things I wanted to say to you. All the horrible insults I had planned if I ever met you again. But here you are and-’ The woman paused, pursing her lips as she took Yuuri in, sighing quietly. ‘You look just like you did then. Like a kid.’  
  
Yuuri didn’t realise he’d been holding his breath until it caught up with him, getting stuck in his throat.  
  
‘Who are you?’ he asked, voice a whisper.

The woman pushed herself away from the barre, walking towards Yuuri with slow and deliberate purpose. Yuuri crossed his arms, hugging himself as he stepped back automatically and hyperaware of how alone they were. His mind was racing and it was like something stuck on the tip of his tongue, just out of reach.  
  
‘Meredith Thorton,’ she replied, extending a hand out for Yuuri to shake after all. But Yuuri didn’t move to take it, didn’t move at all.  
  
It couldn’t be.  
  
Why… _why now?_ After all this time, years of silence and Yuuri never even thinking of it until recently. Yuuri shook his head slowly, not understanding. Everything seemed like it ought to fit together somehow, like there was a reason Mark Thorton had been in Yuuri’s mind lately. But it was scattered, fragmented and Yuuri couldn’t think clearly, heart rabbiting in his chest so loudly he felt he could hear it. Each beat a confession.  
  
‘I… I don’t understand,’ Yuuri said, looking at Meredith as she pulled her hand back, unshaken. ‘I think maybe you’ve gotten the wrong person-’  
  
‘Don’t,’ Meredith said firmly, eyes narrowing. The crow's feet at the corners of her eyes taut with accusation. ‘Let’s not even pretend with that nonsense, okay?’  
  
Yuuri snapped his mouth shut, afraid.  
  
‘You’re the prostitute my ex-husband hired,’ Meredith said, tilting her head as she took Yuuri in. Yuuri felt exposed, raw like a nerve and unsure what to do about any of it. He didn’t want to be here with this woman, didn’t want to hear what she had to say. He should leave, just leave but Yuuri found himself rooted to the spot by something greater. ‘You’re Yuuri Kat-suki.’  
  
She split his name in half, the way American’s were prone to doing so. Yuuri bristled, cheeks growing hot as Meredith kept watching him with that same measured gaze.  
  
‘I’m sorry,’ was the only thing Yuuri could think of to say, but it sounded hollow in his own mouth. Something dark passed over Meredith’s face, something that on anyone else, Yuuri might’ve thought was pity. But then she was inscrutable again, blue eyes on him.  
  
‘About which? The fact that he’s my ex-husband or the fact that you’re why?’ Meredith replied coolly and Yuuri flushed, not having an answer for either. ‘I could never tell what I was angrier about. You, or the money he spent trying to keep you.’  
  
Yuuri looked away, ashamed automatically though something screamed he shouldn’t be. What Mark had done or didn’t do was not Yuuri’s responsibility. He stared at the shadows on the floor, reflected back in the mirror. At Meredith’s red-backed heels. Yuuri tried to contain the fear than ran riot through him, trying to hold firm and be someone strong. Someone like Yakov, or even Victor. Someone who would not be afraid to face a mistake head on.  
  
Yuuri wasn’t like that, it seemed. Yuuri’s hands were shaking and his heart felt too small, too loose in his chest to hold itself together.

Yuuri could think of nothing to say, aware of the weight of his phone in his pocket. Would she stop him if he reached for it? Even if she did, Yuuri was a man in his twenties. It wouldn’t be hard to stop her.

‘It’s amazing how much easier it is not having a ring to fiddle on and off. Maybe you’ll realise it yourself some day,’ Meredith said and she held up her left hand, showing her nude nails and bare fingers.  
  
Yuuri looked up, trying to get a glance of the door. When he met her eye, Meredith was giving Yuuri a look of consideration.  
  
‘Or perhaps not,’ she drawled, moving her hand away and Yuuri felt the insult of it. ‘Tell me, Yuuri, do you have a boyfriend? Someone waiting for you?’ When Yuuri didn’t answer, Meredith made a small noise of thought. ‘Thought as much. But I suppose you’re not in the right business for that sort of thing.’  
  
‘I’m leaving,’ Yuuri said because it was all he wanted to do. Meredith straightened up, one of her feet shifting. Like she was about to step in his way, but stopped herself. The thought punched a hole in Yuuri’s resolve and his throat tightened compulsively, body wound so tight it was bound to snap any moment.  
  
‘I was hoping we could have a small chat,’ Meredith said and that smile was back. Yuuri gathered his gear-bag up, swinging it over his shoulder.  
  
‘I don’t think so,’ Yuuri said, pulling into himself and taking a step towards the door. Meredith reached out, hand on Yuuri’s shoulder and he jumped from her touch like she’d burnt him. When he looked at her face, he couldn’t see a thought he recognised. She was skillfully blank and Yuuri was never good at that. Couldn’t react to what he didn’t know.

‘I think you owe me one conversation, considering everything,’ Meredith said plainly and Yuuri squirmed away from her, arm beginning to spasm he was gripping his bag so tight. Yuuri ignored the hop of his muscles, the spiral coil of his heart as fear turned it like a screw.  
  
‘How did you find me?’ Yuuri asked before he could stop himself, voice the quiver of nerves. ‘Did Yakov send you?’  
  
‘What?’ Meredith looked confused and it was the most human Yuuri had seen in her so far. Then she seemed to find herself again, licking her matte lips. ‘Not the only one looking for you then, I take it?’  
  
‘Forget it,’ Yuuri bit back, moving to leave again. His boots slipped off his heels as he walked, still untied.  
  
‘Wait, wait!’  
  
Yuuri did not wait, reaching out for the handle of the door.  
  
‘It was his smile, wasn’t it? That’s why you liked him so much,’ Meredith asked and Yuuri choked, caught.  
  
Instantly, Victor’s face came to Yuuri’s mind and he gasped, shocked by it. Did she know about Victor? What else did she know? Yuuri turned on the spot, shivering in his skin as the sweat he had chilled, as his body went cold with dread. Meredith smiled and that look Yuuri had thought to be pity was back on her face. She pointed at her own mouth with one long finger.  
  
‘With Mark,’ she said, Yuuri’s nerves finding no comfort in her specification. ‘It was his smile that got me, when we first started dating. Know what I mean?’

Yuuri hovered, unsure. Mark’s smile had been one of the few good things Yuuri had never been able to forget about him. It was slanted, crooked almost and something strangely American about it that had given Yuuri butterflies. But right now, the memory turned his stomach. Meredith nodded, looking softer than she ever had yet.  
  
‘Pretty stupid, to fall for a man’s smile, right?’  
  
‘I never fell for him,’ Yuuri retorted, wincing to himself for not thinking before saying it. When he looked again, Meredith’s face was hard as stone.  
  
‘Of course not,’ she said bluntly. Meredith crossed her arms and to Yuuri, it looked more offensive on her than it did on him. To Yuuri, such a thing acted like little more than a shield. ‘That’s not part of what you do, is it?’  
  
Guilt lanced through Yuuri hot and long, from the top of his chest down to the curl of his stomach. He thought of Victor again, of the promise he made and the weight of Yakov’s threat around his neck like a noose. Yuuri swallowed the sting of tears in the back of his throat.  
  
‘No. It isn’t.’  
  
Meredith’s face was the edge of something sharp. ‘If only Mark had known that, right?’  
  
There was quiet then, thick between them and Yuuri wasn’t sure what to do with it. He rocked on his feet, hand ambling in the space between himself and the door. But there was something burning a hole in his tongue, something that bounced between fear and shame like string pulled too tight between two points.  
  
‘If you’re not here for Yakov, what do you want from me then?’ Yuuri said, putting his arms down by his side to appear taller. But they were almost matched in height, maybe even Meredith taking a few inches from him in her heels. ‘Are you just here to scare me? To pay me back for what happened?’  
  
‘I won’t lie,’ Meredith said, picking at some fluff on her coat sleeve. ‘I did blame you. For a long time. Your face was all I could think about after Mark left me. God, I really hated you.’  
  
Yuuri felt like there was a knife in his stomach, turning in slow deliberate circles that twisted his body like cloth. From there, his mind jumped to the image of bedding. The fistfuls of it he would gather, the bunching tug of it from where his legs could get caught. Yuuri flushed, the room suddenly seeming too small. Or the air too thin. There was a ringing in Yuuri’s ears and he struggled to focus, struggled to understand.  
  
‘We met in Radiance,’ Meredith continued and Yuuri thought of the restaurant instantly. Expensive, high-rise and Robert’s favourite for a meal. Yuuri thought back desperately, trying to remember but Meredith did not wait for him. ‘I was going for dinner with my firm. Mark probably forgot, or maybe he had just gotten that bold. But there you both were, having dinner. An intern, that’s how he introduced you.’  
  
Yuuri remembered, the memory hitting him so hard it was like a blow.  
  
‘You still had an accent then,’ Meredith continued, watching Yuuri. ‘You really were so young- _are_ so young. Maybe that’s what made believing your silly story so easy.’  
  
‘I…’ Yuuri stammered, truly lost for words.  
  
‘Huh,’ Meredith said quietly, almost to herself. ‘Nothing to say? Nothing?’  
  
Yuuri worried the inside of his lip, bit until he tasted the copper tang of blood. Meredith raised an eyebrow at him, either assessing him or waiting for a response. Yuuri couldn’t help but think of how he must look from her eyes. Did he look as small as he felt? Look as scared as he was? One, stupid mistake from so many years ago and it wasn’t even Yuuri’s mistake. But that couldn’t be how she saw it. Yuuri couldn’t blame her for that, no matter how ill it made him.  
  
‘Perhaps it’s just as well,’ Meredith said at last, turning on one of her heels. It scratched along the surface of the wood, her eyes hard on Yuuri as she kept his gaze. ‘Because I’m not here to talk about Mark. I’m here to talk about Robert.’  
  
_‘What?’_ _  
_ _  
_ Yuuri’s mind was a whipcrack, crystalline in that one moment where everything fell out of his bleak understanding as he processed what Meredith had just told him. She was plainly enjoying Yuuri’s confusion, relishing his inability to comprehend. Yuuri could still see himself so clearly through her perspective. Yuuri felt like he’d mis-stepped, just like the pas de bourrée. Expecting to land but slipping beneath the weight.  
  
‘Robert… My Robert?’ Yuuri asked, stuttering and confused. Meredith’s eyes flashed, catching the light.  
  
‘Your Robert?’ she repeated, smiling at Yuuri but there was no kindness there. ‘Funny, how you think. Mark wasn’t yours, but somehow, Robert is? Is that because you don’t pay commission to anyone for Robert? Make it feel more your own?’  
  
Yuuri looked away, mouth open in hurt at the sting of Meredith’s words as they cut him. Meredith twisted her knife with a snarl.  
  
‘Or is because Robert’s wife isn’t here to disagree?’  
  
‘Stop it,’ Yuuri snapped, holding a hand up. ‘I’m not some- your marriages have nothing to do with me.’  
  
‘Do you really think that?’ Meredith asked, and she almost sounded curious. ‘Do you really think that job of yours doesn’t affect anyone else but you?’  
  
Mark. Phichit. Victor.  
  
Yuuri was stranded between, backed against a door he couldn’t bring himself to open.  
  
‘What do you want?’ he said, the hand in front of him shaking. He couldn’t focus on anything, couldn’t hold himself steady but Yuuri wouldn’t break. Wouldn’t show this woman, this stranger, how afraid he was. ‘Tell me what you want, or I’m leaving.’  
  
‘I want your help,’ Meredith answered, like it were obvious. Yuuri ignored the heat on the back of his neck from her judgement. ‘That’s why I’ve been looking for you. You wouldn’t believe how surprised I was, after all this time, to find out that the same prostitute that ruined my life was fucking my boss.’  
  
‘You work for Robert?’ Yuuri said, not following. Meredith gave Yuuri a look like he were particularly slow.  
  
‘Robert Heston,’ she said slowly, but Yuuri was too numb to feel her insult. ‘Of Burke and Heston, the law cooperation in central city. Never came up in your dates, no?’  
  
‘We never talked about work,’ Yuuri said weakly though it wasn’t quite true, dazed from the conversation. He noticed too late he was speaking and bit his lip after he realised. Meredith laughed lightly.

‘Bit of an oxymoron for you, surely,’ she poked, but Yuuri ignored her baiting. He stood, waiting for her to explain. ‘Tell me, Yuuri. You’re in the business of money, too. What do you know about embezzlement?’  
  
‘What? Nothing,’ Yuuri said truthfully and Meredith took a step forward. Yuuri moved back, unsure.  
  
‘Robert Heston has embezzled nearly three quarters of a million dollars from our firm,’ Meredith said and Yuuri’s brow furrowed, hands in tight fists.  
  
‘Why would he embezzle from his own firm?’ Yuuri asked, not able to reconcile the Robert he knew with this woman and the world she crawled out of. Not able to link this awful situation back to the man Yuuri had felt so comfortable with.  
  
‘Why does a man do anything?’ Meredith replied shrewdly. ‘Because he can.’  
  
Yuuri swallowed the retort he had to that, taking a moment to think.  
  
‘I- I don’t know if this is some weird way of putting me in my place, but I really think you need to leave me alone,’ Yuuri stammered at last, stomach twisted and head spinning. He edged backwards, towards the door. ‘This is between you and Robert.’  
  
‘It’s about you, too.’  
  
‘How?’  
  
‘Well, the money had to go somewhere,’ Meredith said, waving her hands like she might conjure said money up before them. ‘Or at least, he has to be paying you from somewhere.’  
  
Yuuri opened his mouth, then paused. Considering what she said before speaking.  
  
‘You think he paid me from those missing accounts,’ he said slowly, waiting for any correction should it come. Meredith said nothing, which Yuuri took for confirmation. He shook his head. ‘Robert paid cash.’  
  
‘Always?’

No, Yuuri thought but couldn’t say. Meredith must’ve seen it in his face anyway, going by the way she regarded him with renewed scrutiny.  
  
‘Thought so,’ she said and Yuuri went hot, skin pimpling with nerves. ‘I think we could help each other, Yuuri. Make amends, if you like.’  
  
‘Wait,’ Yuuri said, holding a hand up. ‘I don’t understand this. Any of it. How did you even know about me to begin with?’  
  
Yuuri’s hand shook in front of him, betraying his anxiety.  
  
‘Have you been following me?’  
  
‘I was following Robert,’ Meredith replied, but she seemed careful now. A little less sure of herself and Yuuri frowned, trying to read her. ‘You just happened to be where he ended up. I saw an opportunity.’  
  
‘So then you started following me,’ Yuuri finished, catching on. ‘That’s how you knew I was here as well, right?’  
  
Yuuri pulled his hand back, curled it up to his chest. He stepped back, a rippling unease beneath his skin as he felt the violation and the self-consciousness of knowing someone had been following him. Watching him. Yuuri felt the anger rise up inside of him like a wave, flushing down his neck as the chill of fear he’d felt before thawed in the wake of it.  
  
‘You…’ Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to insult her, never quite having such a thing in him. When he spoke, his words were quiet fury. ‘I can’t believe you did such a thing. What kind of person are you?’  
  
‘I stopped being surprised by what people are capable of a long time ago,’ Meredith replied, but her cheeks were pink. Yuuri had gotten to her, somehow. He pushed.  
  
‘So you just lowered yourself to their level?’ Yuuri said bitterly and Meredith wrinkled her nose.  
  
‘I wouldn’t throw stones, Katsuki,’ Meredith retorted but Yuuri was impervious now, so angry. ‘This doesn’t have to get ugly for you. Not if you make the right decision.’  
  
‘Oh, I have a choice now?’ Yuuri said, almost laughing he felt so brittle. ‘How generous of you.’  
  
‘Don’t be childish!’  
  
‘I’m not the one throwing a tantrum because my husband left me,’ Yuuri snapped back, horrified by the violation of being followed. ‘It’s not my fault he didn’t want you.’  
  
Meredith said nothing, looking she’d been struck and Yuuri heard his words too late. He stuttered, suddenly shameful of having been so cruel. His anger went out like a candle, suddenly leaving him feeling rather empty.  
  
‘You may not know what it’s like to lose someone, but that’s no excuse to treat what you and Mark did to me so lightly,’ Meredith said slowly and for the first time, her voice shook. Yuuri closed his eyes, pulled into himself and felt ashamed of his outburst. ‘What Robert is doing is wrong and I’m not about to let him just run our firm into the ground because he feels like it. I don’t want to make things difficult for you, Yuuri. But I will if I have to.’  
  
‘What do you want?’ Yuuri asked, forcing himself to look at Meredith. ‘You came for something. What is it?’  
  
‘I want you to make a statement,’ Meredith said, standing up to her full height. She was definitely taller than Yuuri in her heels. ‘And release your payment information to me so I can find Robert’s missing account.’  
  
‘And if it’s not what you’re looking for?’  
  
‘It will be,’ Meredith said firmly and Yuuri looked away, staring out the windows at the snow.  
  
‘If you already know so much, why do you even need me to agree?’ Yuuri asked, confused before it suddenly came to him. He turned back to Meredith, anger reignited. ‘Because you’ve had me followed. It isn’t legal, how you found me, is it? That’s why you need me to agree, why you can’t just summon me.’  
  
‘It’s… complicated,’ Meredith answered and Yuuri knew he was right. He readjusted his gear-bag.  
  
‘I’m leaving.’  
  
‘We’re not finished.’  
  
‘Yes, we are,’ Yuuri said coldly before he turned on his heel, opening the door and bolting down the corridor. He expected Meredith to follow him, to hear her heels clipping behind him. But there was nothing.  
  
Yuuri kept going until he came back to the lobby, feet shuffling as his shoes were still untied. He made a bee-line for the bathroom, needing to clear his head. Splash some water on his face, gather his thoughts. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, mind spinning like a top, he didn’t notice Jada calling him until she banged on the reception desk.  
  
‘What?’ he asked, dazed and Jada was standing up in her chair now.  
  
‘I tried calling you!’ Jada said, pointing to her phone on the desk. ‘We all did. Babe, you have to go to the hospital. Phichit- it’s Phichit, Celestino just took him in a cab. We tried calling you, but we couldn’t get through.’  
  
‘Phichit..?’ Yuuri repeated, not entirely following. His mind was fogged, thoughts caught up in a spiraling circle and it was taking him too long to register what Jada was saying to him. He reached into his pocket, pulling his phone out to see he’d left it on silent. Three missed calls from Celestino, two missed calls from the rink. Yuuri stuttered, confused. ‘What’s- what’s happening? What did you say?’  
  
Jada was looking at Yuuri like she was worried he’d hit his head. Maybe he had, maybe this was all some terrible nightmare Yuuri just couldn’t wake himself from.  
  
‘Phichit collided with a hockey player and he fell. Looked like he bashed himself up pretty good. Celestino told me to tell you to meet him at the hospital. I was just coming to get you when you didn’t answer your phone.’  
  
Suddenly, everything came crashing down into Yuuri as he registered what Jada was saying, what was happening and he felt so heavy with it, he could sink through the floor.  
  
‘Right. Right, I’m going,’ Yuuri said, determined and he bent down, dropping his bag as he hurriedly tied his laces. He pulled his coat out of the gear bag, knowing he’d still be too cold in his light kit but not caring. As he straightened up, he saw Meredith walk into the foyer. She stopped and they watched each other for a moment. Silent and staring.  
  
‘I…’ Yuuri started, but he never finished. Instead, Yuuri grabbed his bag, threw it over his shoulder and left into the snow.

 

* * *

 

 

Phichit eased himself down onto the couch, wincing and Yuuri sighed sympathetically.  
  
‘Do you need anything else?’  Yuuri asked, watching as Phichit leaned off the bruise Yuuri knew to have blossomed on his hip. Phichit grunted in response, which was about all Yuuri expected given what had happened. Yuuri wasn’t feeling up to much conversation himself, dazedly walking through the day like he were dreaming.

  
‘No, I think I’m good,’ Phichit replied, rubbing at his hip.  
  
When Yuuri had arrived at the hospital, Phichit was still waiting to be seen, Celestino flapping around him like some bizarre bird. Yuuri had rushed over, red faced and freezing through his tracksuit trousers in the waiting room after spotting them from the reception desk. The sight of Phichit holding what looked to be one of his own t-shirts to his bloody forehead was enough to wipe everything from Yuuri’s mind then, all focus onto the stain of blood beneath Phichit’s brown fingers.  
  
Really, Phichit had been incredibly lucky according to the doctor and Yuuri had to agree.  
  
While the cut on his forehead was more dramatic, it turned out the real danger was in Phichit’s ankle, which he’d landed on quite badly. It was the same ankle Phichit had once broken, back in sophomore year. Celestino had managed to stay calm, which was impressive as Yuuri had to nearly bite through his own tongue not to scold Phichit for possibly tearing a ligament so close to the Grand Prix. If Phichit hadn’t looked so washed out under the fluorescence of the patient's room, Yuuri might not have been able to hold back but as it was, Phichit had been a rather unpleasant grey colour. It was enough for sympathy to win out over incredulity.  
  
Phichit gently put his foot up on the coffee table, where it was wrapped in a compression bandage. Yuuri put Phichit’s gear-bag down, heading towards the kitchen to make some tea for Phichit. And possibly a coffee for himself, as now in the comfort of their own home, Yuuri felt like he’d run marathons all day and his energy was spent.  
  
‘The doctor said you should take some more anti-inflammatories when you got home,’ Yuuri suggested as he flipped the kettle on, moving back over to Phichit’s bag to fish out the paper pharmacy bag. Phichit groaned from the couch dejectedly as Yuuri tossed the bag over. It hit Phichit with a sad crinkle.  
  
‘Later,’ Phichit managed to say, tipping his head back so he was staring up at the ceiling, shoving the pharmacy bag down next to him. ‘Right now, I think I’m just going to let myself feel it.’  
  
‘That’s stupid,’ Yuuri said as the kettle clicked. ‘If you’re sore just take the ibuprofen.’  
  
Phichit huffed behind him, before laughing. ‘Shove it up your ass, Katsuki.’  
  
‘Very mature. Now take your medicine.’  
  
‘Eat a dick.’  
  
‘Classy,’ was all Yuuri had to say to that as he made two cups of green tea, before leaving them to stew. He walked over and sat down on the couch, tracksuit sticking to him from where it was still damp from the snow. He’d change in a few minutes- Phichit first. ‘Want to talk about what happened?’  
  
‘Definitely not,’ Phichit replied, fishing his phone out of his hoodie pocket. ‘Think I’d get some sympathy likes if I Instagram my ankle?’  
  
Yuuri felt a twinge of unease. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t advertise an injury until you know what it means.’  
  
Phichit glanced at Yuuri from the corner of his eye, nervous grey beneath the small line of stitches on the side of his forehead. ‘It’s not an _injury_ injury. Doctor said I only sprained it.’  
  
‘What he actually said was he hoped you only sprained it,’ Yuuri corrected softly, feeling uncomfortable with the way Phichit was now avoiding looking at him. Yuuri reached out, touching Phichit’s shoulder. ‘You still have your x-ray tomorrow to be sure. I’d say better leave it off until we know for sure.’  
  
‘Spoil sport,’ Phichit said as he opened Snapchat anyway, but Yuuri could tell his heart wasn’t in the teasing. They sat in silence, waiting for the tea to steep as Phichit idly checked snapchat stories. Yuuri felt his stomach twist as Phichit checked JJ Leroy’s, nerves and guilt suddenly cloying inside of him.  
  
‘I’ll check the tea,’ Yuuri said, just for something to do that wasn’t think about his job. Or his ex-job, as it were. That just brought Yuuri’s mind right back to Meredith and the nausea that anxiety gave him had Yuuri’s body shaking when he stood. He paused for a moment, trying to compose himself.  
  
‘You okay?’ Phichit asked, as Yuuri still hadn’t moved. Yuuri shook his head, smiling down at Phichit.  
  
‘I’m fine, just haven’t eaten much today,’ he brushed off, moving towards the kitchen to fix the tea. When he got back to the couch, armed with two mugs, Phichit was looking at Yuuri very carefully. Yuuri smiled again, holding Phichit’s mug out to him. Phichit took it, still watching Yuuri.  
  
‘What have you been up today, actually? Seeing as you’re unemployed,’ Phichit said, tone almost light enough for Yuuri to believe that Phichit wasn’t suspicious of anything. Unfortunately for Phichit, he was one of the few things Yuuri prided himself in being an expert on.  
  
‘I was in the dance studio, just trying to get back into the habit,’ Yuuri dodged, blowing the steam off his tea. He frowned to himself. ‘I’m sorry for getting distracted though, I could’ve been with you before you went to the hospital if I’d left my phone on.’  
  
‘It’s not that big a deal,’ Phichit said with a shrug, blowing at his own mug. His fingers flexed against the ceramic; it was still too hot to touch save for the handle. ‘It looked way worse than it was.’  
  
‘You split your head open,’ Yuuri said, tempering his voice to show how serious he was. Phichit rolled his eyes.  
  
‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ Phichit said, taking a sip of his tea before hissing. ‘Ow. Too hot. It was just a small cut. I probably don’t even need the stitches they put in.’  
  
‘Yeah, what do doctors know? Butchers, really,’ Yuuri mocked and Phichit rolled his eyes again. He was going to give himself a headache if he kep that up, Yuuri thought. ‘Phichit, I know I’m nagging but what were you thinking? You didn’t have nearly enough space for a quad loop in the rink today. You could’ve done some real damage.’  
  
‘God, whatever, Ciao-Ciao junior,’ Phichit said, waving his free hand as though what Yuuri was saying was trivial. Yuuri frowned, the unease he’d been carrying since his run in with Meredith churning thick and unpleasant in his gut. ‘I didn’t do any damage, so just leave it off, yeah?’  
  
‘Didn’t do- look at yourself!’ Yuuri said, gesturing to Phichit’s raised foot on the table. ‘What if it’s fractured? Or broken? What do you do then?’  
  
‘It’s not fractured! Jesus,’ Phichit said, before muttering away in Thai. Yuuri put his mug down on the table, knowing just enough that Phichit was definitely mocking him. Phichit met Yuuri frowning at him, sighing deeply. ‘I already got chewed out once today from Ciao-Ciao, I don’t need another go around. It was stupid, but I’m fine!’  
  
‘And what about the guy you crashed into?’ Yuuri asked, not entirely sure where the frustration he was brewing was coming from but being unable to stop it. There was something easy in snapping at Phichit now, something that eased the weight in his stomach. ‘There could’ve been two of you in that waiting room.’  
  
‘Well, lucky for the varsity hockey team, there was just stupid old me. So guess you can be happy for that,’ Phichit replied miserably and Yuuri felt a shiver of guilt for his tone. But it was outweighed by another flash of annoyance at Phichit for referring to himself as _stupid_ like Yuuri in any way cared more about some hockey stranger _._ It wasn’t like Phichit to be so wretched.  
  
‘Don’t be a dick,’ Yuuri said and Phichit stared at him, shocked. It wasn’t like Yuuri to swear, but if Phichit was going to wallow in self-pity like it wasn’t his own damn fault for where he was, then Yuuri couldn’t seem to help himself. ‘You know that’s not what I mean. I’m just trying to understand.’

‘I know he’s your ex and all, but you do remember how many quads Nikiforov has in his free-skate right?’ Phichit said angrily and Yuuri flushed, memory of Meredith flashing through his mind like lightning. He shook his head, like he might shake the thought away entirely. Phichit didn’t seem to notice. ‘I can barely land the ones I have! I felt good about giving it a go, so I gave it a go and it bit me in the ass, alright? I get it!’  
  
‘What does it matter how many quads Victor has?’ Yuuri asked, watching as Phichit took a sip of his tea. Watched as Phichit burnt his tongue, again. ‘Your programs are completely different.’  
  
‘Tell me, Yuuri, because I’d love to know,’ Phichit said hotly, turning to face Yuuri with his eyes burning. ‘Do you really think I have a shot of beating Victor?’  
  
Yuuri gaped for a moment, stunned. ‘What? Of course. You know I’m cheering for you.’  
  
‘That’s not what I asked,’ Phichit said, sounding deflated all of a sudden. Yuuri reached out again, holding Phichit’s arm.  
  
‘Phichit, you came third in the Four Continents last season! You’re top ranking in your country,’ Yuuri continued, making an effort to sound enthusiastic.  
  
‘Victor wasn’t in Four Continents, or Plisetsky,’ Phichit said, looking down into his mug like something were lurking in the tea, ready to bite him. ‘And JJ came second.’  
  
‘You’re twice the skater JJ is,’ Yuuri said, truthfully and squeezing Phichit’s arm as he said it. Phichit sighed again, pushing a hand through his hair. ‘Is that what you’re worried about? You’re going to be great, Phichit. I know it.’

‘Right, right. Because you’ve got it all figured out,’ Phichit said and his tone caught Yuuri off-guard.

‘I don’t know what you want me to do,’ Yuuri said slowly, nervous.

‘Well, you’ve been doing a whole bunch of nothing lately, so why not just keep going with that?’ Phichit snapped and Yuuri gasped, hurt. Phichit pulled his arm out of Yuuri’s grip, leaning forward to put his mug of tea down with a little more force than was necessary. Hot water spilled out, onto the coffee table.

‘What is your problem?’ Yuuri asked, angry and not sure where to put it. Where he used to be exhausted from the emotional trainwreck of the day, something suddenly burned hot. Frustration at himself and hollow hurt from being unable to do anything fissured Yuuri’s centre until something ugly spilled forth.

‘My problem? _My problem?’_ Phichit repeated manically, tossing his phone onto the space between them. It bounced on the cushions screen-down, hamster emoji case staring up at them. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me, Yuuri. You’re the one I’m worrying about!’  
  
‘Why? Why would you be worried about me?’ Yuuri asked, confused. He adjusted his glasses, shivering in his still-damp kit as he pinched his nose. ‘You shouldn’t be thinking about me at all.’  
  
‘Not everyone can turn caring off as easily as you can,’ Phichit said acidly and Yuuri gasped, stung. Phichit looked over, eyes wide and he reached out towards Yuuri suddenly. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.’  
  
‘It’s fine. Forget it,’ Yuuri said, shrugging out of Phichit’s grasp. He tried a smile, pushing his hands between his legs. ‘I know you’ve had a rough day, I shouldn’t be at you. I’m sorry.’  
  
Phichit frowned at Yuuri, dark eyes skimming over Yuuri’s face like looking for the cracks in the veneer. Yuuri hunched his shoulders, self-conscious.  
  
‘What? What is it?’  
  
‘Tell me, Yuuri,’ Phichit said and Yuuri bit his lip, nervous. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking.’  
  
Meredith. Victor. Phichit. Mark. Then back to the beginning in a vicious loop, Yuuri feeling like his heart was being pulled in all directions until it was tearing under the strain. Like something too weak to hold the people in it, frail like paper and Yuuri wondered how he’d ever though he could’ve fixed anything. He looked at Phichit, at the tape of his stitches and then down the length of the body, to where his foot was perched on the coffee table.  
  
‘Nothing,’ Yuuri said quietly, trying to hide how his hands were shaking by pushing his legs tighter together. ‘I’m not thinking about anything. I’m just worried about you.’  
  
‘Bullshit,’ Phichit said and Yuuri sighed, getting frustrated again.  
  
‘Can’t you just drop it, Phichit?’ Yuuri said, nodding towards the pharmacy bag that was almost squished between them now. ‘You’re the only one you should be focusing on. I’m fine.'  
  
‘Why did you do it, Yuuri?’ Phichit asked, eyes hard like stones. Yuuri shrank beneath the intensity of them, wondering if he'd vanish altogether he'd been feeling so small lately.

’Do what?’

‘Why did you quit skating?’

Yuuri chewed on his answer, unsure.

‘You know why,’ Yuuri replied weakly, but Phichit clicked his tongue impatiently.

‘No, actually. I don't,’ Phichit said angrily. Yuuri wrapped his arms around himself now, stomach twisting like nausea. ‘You were so good. And you loved it. _Why_ did you just throw it all away?'

‘I didn't throw anything away,’ Yuuri retorted smartly, frowning at the implication but Phichit was already talking over him, frustration written all across his face.

‘Yes, you did!’ Phichit snapped, startling Yuuri as Phichit got up off the couch. He winched, hip obviously pulling from the movement but he was already rounding on Yuuri before Yuuri could even offer help. Phichit pointed at him. ‘You just left! Left it behind, left _me_ behind like none of it mattered anymore! And for what? Money?’

‘No!’ Yuuri said, horrified. ‘No, no! Of course not! How could you think that?’

‘How could I not?’ Phichit replied bitterly. ‘What else did that stupid escort job give you that skating and I couldn’t?’

Yuuri had only ever seen Phichit like this twice before over the last five years. Each time stood out in Yuuri’s memory like the raised skin of a scar. Never quite healed over.

Phichit’s optimism was the deep, beating heart of who he was. Yuuri had learned the rhythm of Phichit’s tempo happiness a long time ago, enjoying the warmth of it and the comfort it always offered. It was perhaps Yuuri’s steadfast reliance on such that made the times that optimism failed stand out so clearly. Yuuri had always been closest to his most selfish where Phichit was concerned, if Yuuri were to be honest with himself.

‘Now you’ve quit escorting, too,’ Phichit continued, teetering on his one good foot. ‘And it’s just like skating, just like before because you’re not saying a freaking word about it! Like it just- I don’t know, like it just rolls off your back when I _know_ it doesn’t! And I don’t know what to do, Yuuri. I don’t know how to help you.’  
  
‘Help me?’ Yuuri said, stunned by Phichit’s outburst. Shrinking back into the couch, like it might swallow him. ‘You don’t have to help me at all, Phichit. I can look after myself.’  
  
‘I don’t think you can,’ Phichit said and he looked so young suddenly, it rendered any retort Yuuri had moot.  
  
Phichit looked just like the teenage kid he was when Yuuri had met him, scared in a way Yuuri had only seen once before. Yuuri wanted to get up, reach out and hold Phichit until his friend stopped shaking. But Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to move. Trapped, for the second time that day.  
  
‘I can, Phichit. I promise. Now let me look after you,’ Yuuri pressed, reaching over for the pharmacy bag for something to do that wasn’t look at Phichit.  
  
‘Do you have any idea what this has been like for me? Wondering if I should be banging your bedroom door down or hiding the razor blades? How could I focus on the stupid Grand Prix when I was half afraid you’d have drowned yourself by the time I came home?’ Phichit said manically, tears bursting from his eyes and Yuuri stood up then, galvanised into action by Phichit’s upset. He stood tall, gathering Phichit into his arms as Phichit broke down, crying into Yuuri’s shoulder. ‘O-okay. I knew you weren’t going to do that. But something’s wrong, Yuuri. Just like something was- was wrong when you quit skating and I… I didn’t help you then and I just want to help!’  
  
‘Shush, shush,’ Yuuri cooed softly, holding Phichit tight to his chest. Felt Phichit’s tears wet and hot on his shoulder. ‘It’s alright, I’m alright. Nothing bad’s going to happen, I promise.’  
  
‘How do you know that? You’re always so in your own head and I don’t know what to do,’ Phichit said, muffled by Yuuri’s t-shirt. Yuuri rubbed soothing circles on Phichit’s back, holding him so tight it hurt. ‘And I messed up my leg, too.’  
  
‘It’s not messed up, it’s sprained,’ Yuuri said in the most comforting voice he could manage. It still shook, but Yuuri was proud of himself for not giving in to his own tears. Phichit laughed, but it was a muted, wet noise.  
  
‘I don’t care about winning,’ Phichit admitted, sniffing his nose. Yuuri kept rubbing his back, but he was confused. ‘I really don’t. What matters most to me is showing the world what I’m capable of. Showing you.’  
  
‘I have faith in you,’ Yuuri said, resolute but Phichit pulled out of his arms. He rubbed at his face, wiping the tears as he looked up at Yuuri with wet eyes.  
  
‘I don’t want you to have faith. I want you to see and to know how good I can be,’ Phichit said, and before Yuuri could say anything to counter that, Phichit continued. ‘You have no idea, no idea how much your skating meant to me, Yuuri. I know you wallpapered our dorm room in Victor’s posters, but you’re the one I’d hang on my wall.’  
  
‘Phichit…’ Yuuri said, so moved he couldn’t think of anything else to say.  
  
‘You were the one I wanted to catch up to,’ Phichit admitted stiffly, red nosed and puffy-eyed as he looked up at Yuuri sternly. ‘And then one day you just quit. Like all of it meant nothing to you and I never understood how you could just do that.’  
  
‘I failed,’ Yuuri answered immediately, wanting to be honest but unsure where even to start. ‘I had finally made it to the Grand Prix, my first Grand Prix.’  
  
‘You were in the juniors-’ Phichit started but Yuuri waved him off.  
  
‘That was different. I was on my own then, with no one to chase after,’ Yuuri explained softly, the memory of being in the Junior Grand Prix so alien now after years of burying it that it felt like it belonged to someone else entirely. ‘This was the senior division, and I was with Victor. It meant the world to me and I knew everyone was counting on me. Everyone back home, and Celestino. And you.’  
  
Yuuri took a shaky breath, heart made of glass that was close to shattering.  
  
‘And I failed,’ Yuuri said, choking slightly on the words. ‘I failed, in front of everyone and I just… I just couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take knowing how I let everyone down, how I’d broken everyone’s hearts. It was too much, too much for me to carry. So I left.’  
  
It was silent then, Phichit still sniffling as he tried to wipe at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. Yuuri was holding him by the shoulders, not able to let go just yet. Yuuri felt hollowed out- like the day had been some sharp edged thing that carved the life out of him. Meeting with Meredith seemed so distant now, the threat of her dulled down by the thick emotion between himself and Phichit. Yuuri was just… really tired.  
  
‘That’s… bullshit,’ Phichit said at last and Yuuri blinked, shocked.  
  
‘What?’  
  
‘That’s bullshit,’ Phichit said, stronger this time. He pushed Yuuri’s arms off him. ‘You weren’t worried about our hearts, you were worried about your own. You got scared and instead of staying, instead of fighting, you ran away.’  
  
‘That’s not fair,’ Yuuri said, wounded from how close to the bone Phichit’s words were. But Phichit was firm, despite the tears.  
  
‘You didn’t consider anyone’s feelings but your own,’ Phichit continued, tears leaking again. They went down his cheeks in two straight lines. ‘You never even thought about how angry it made me, or how abandoned I felt. Didn’t think about how disappointed Celestino was. How could none of what we did together matter?’  
  
‘Of course it mattered!’ Yuuri said, desperate but Phichit was shaking his head.  
  
‘Not as much as feeling safe did,’ Phichit said and Yuuri held his hands in front of him, defenceless.  
  
‘There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel safe,’ he said weakly, but Phichit just threw him a dirty look.  
  
‘You only wanted to protect yourself though,’ he said miserably and Yuuri flinched from his words. ‘And you’re exactly the same then as you are now.’  
  
‘Don’t,’ Yuuri warned and Phichit’s eyes flashed.  
  
‘Or what?’ he challenged.  
  
‘Just leave it, Phichit.’  
  
‘Leave what? What exactly are you so afraid of me finding?’ Phichit demanded, pushing Yuuri in the chest with one pointed finger. ‘Something is going on in that stupid head of yours and why can’t you just admit you need help with it? You don’t have to make the same mistake twice, Yuuri.’  
  
‘I’m not the same person, Phichit,’ Yuuri said, stepping back. Stepping away from Phichit for the first time since they’d started. He thought of the dance studio, the empty space and the ache of hitting the floor from where he’d misstepped. ‘I’m not that skater anymore. I’m not the person you looked up to.’  
  
‘Yuuri, no. That isn’t what I meant!’ Phichit said, sounding manic again but Yuuri felt like his chest was too tight. Like string was pulling all his ribs together until he couldn’t breathe, lungs suffocating.  
  
‘I need a min-minute,’ Yuuri stammered, stumbling backwards past the couch. His eyes swam with tears, heart pounding in his ears as he struggled to catch his breath.  
  
Yuuri bolted out of the living room, down the hall and into his bedroom. He ignored Phichit calling after him, knowing Phichit wouldn’t be able to run. Yuuri slammed his bedroom door closed behind him, the sound echoing in their apartment like a gunshot. Yuuri locked the door, stepping away and gasping lungfuls of air, hyperventilating.  
  
Yuuri buried his face into his hands, choking on his own breath. He held this throat, felt his Adam’s apple bounce beneath his fingertips. A buoy, caught in the ocean. Yuuri started to cry in earnest, everything crashing down around him until he saw nothing but the red of his eyelids, felt the rim of his glasses dig into skin.  
  
This was all his fault, Everything- _everything was his fault._ _  
_ _  
_ Phichit’s fall, the way he pushed himself to do better. Setting his goal to a standard not even Yuuri could meet, for what? For Yuuri’s approval, for his appreciation? How worthless, Yuuri felt in this moment. How small and empty, how undeserving of Phichit’s attention. And in that circular way love went, it swirled Yuuri’s thoughts like a current back to Victor.  
  
What Victor saw in Yuuri, the things he’d gathered and fallen in love with- those were things Yuuri didn’t have anymore. Victor only admitted to Yuuri his feelings when Yuuri had confessed to being a skater. That was the man Victor wanted, that was the man Victor had fallen in love with. The same man Phichit had admired. Yuuri wasn’t that person anymore, wouldn’t even know where to begin in relearning to be.  
  
Yuuri looked around his room, looked at the wardrobe left half open. And something broke.  
  
Yuuri tore open the boxes he still hadn’t unpacked. Pulled things out of them like poison from a wound, tossing them onto the bed. He left a mess in his wake, tears clouding his vision and glasses slipping until Yuuri threw them somewhere, too. Old gifts from clients were thrown like bullets, puncturing the bed as Yuuri tossed them there. He gathered old receipts and invitations, crushing them together in his hands. The bed was a warzone as Yuuri moved onto the wardrobe.  
  
Yuuri pulled at Eros’ clothes, throwing them and balling them like they were worth nothing. He kept going, ripping through his life in a way Yuuri never thought himself capable of. But Yuuri wanted all of it gone. Every last thing, purged until Yuuri’s life would be as empty as he felt. Yuuri kept going, losing sight in his panic as he threw the clothes onto the bed with whatever was left. Kept going until his room was bleeding Eros everywhere.  
  
Phichit had been right. Yuuri was a coward back then, hiding behind Eros like a shield. Keeping everyone out in his effort to keep himself in. Phichit had been right to say Yuuri was only concerned with saving himself and whether Phichit knew it or not, he was right about Yuuri now.  
  
Who was Yuuri kidding? To think he could just quit and get everything he wanted? Yuuri had been so foolish, so selfish to think that way. He was behaving the same way he had at nineteen- running scared and straight into protecting himself first. Protecting what Yuuri wanted first. Phichit deserved better than that. Deserved better than Yuuri.    
  
Yuuri had to save Phichit now. There was no other option and deep down, Yuuri thought now that he always knew that. There was no being with Victor, not if Yuuri really wanted to keep Phichit safe. There were things bigger than Yakov Feltsman circling Yuuri now, things Victor could never hope to protect himself from either. Yuuri thought he’d have time to figure it all out, but now Yuuri realised that there were things he needed to and Victor couldn’t be part of them.  
  
There was no saving everyone, Yuuri thought. No protecting his own or Victor’s heart. But he could save Phichit.  
  
The quiet of the room split like a log as Yuuri’s phone started ringing. Yuuri took it out of his pocket, the breath knocked out of him when he saw Victor calling. Like somehow, Victor knew. Yuuri bit his lip, tore at the skin there until he reopened the bite he’d left there earlier. Yuuri stumbled back against his bedroom door, sinking down onto the floor.  
  
Decided, Yuuri answered the call.  
  
‘Hello, Victor,’ Yuuri said and was that his voice? That hollow croak?  
  
‘Yuuri!’ Victor said and Yuuri’s heart somersaulted at hearing Victor’s voice. The way he curled around Yuur’s name like an embrace. ‘I didn’t think you’d answer but… I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t push you. But I just had to call you.’  
  
‘I need to talk to you,’ Yuuri said firmly, free hand on his knees. He bunched it into a fist. ‘So it’s good that you called.’  
  
‘You sound serious,’ Victor said brightly, before laughing nervously. Victor had a laugh Yuuri could cut himself on. ‘I called to talk about Barcelona. Is that what you want to talk about?’  
  
‘Yes. And no,’ Yuuri said, feeling as though someone’s cold, hard hand were squeezing his gut until Yuuri couldn’t breathe with it. Yuuri paused, words lost. Victor spoke, his tone a warm hand on Yuuri’s heart.  
  
‘I know you’ve quit,’ Victor said and Yuuri blinked at his own tears, trying to follow Victor’s words. When Yuuri said nothing to that, Victor continued. ‘I saw your website is gone. Not that I was looking, exactly! I just- I don’t have any photos of you. We’ll have to fix that when I see you in Barcelona-’  
  
‘I’m not going to Barcelona, Victor,’ Yuuri said, closing his eyes and swimming in the dark there. ‘And I haven’t quit my job.'  
  
_Make something up,_ Yakov had told Yuuri that day in Moscow. Intern, Yuuri had called himself to Meredith years ago. Yuuri could bend the truth like origami, better than his mother ever taught him with cranes.  
  
‘What? Yuuri, I don’t understand,’ Victor said slowly, accent strong. Hooked on the edges, catching on Yuuri’s heart. ‘What do you mean you’re not coming?’  
  
‘I’m not quitting my job for you, Victor,’ Yuuri said, nodding his head slowly to himself. It was a performance- like skating, like Eros. Yuuri could do this, slip into the skin of someone who didn’t love Victor. He’d have to. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.’  
  
‘You don’t have to!’ Victor said, his voice high on the static and Yuuri winced. He half-entertained hanging up then, but it wouldn’t be enough. Victor would come for him. Yuuri knew this and somehow, knowing it now made it seem all the more real than before. ‘I told you before you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I should never have asked, it was selfish of me.’  
  
‘I deleted my website because I didn’t want you to find me,’ Yuuri continued, like Victor wasn’t saying anything. The wound Yuuri was tearing open inside of himself bled misery, flooding his lungs with it. ‘When I say I can’t do this, Victor, I mean _this._ I mean us.’  
  
‘Yuuri…’ Victor whispered, voice a shadow and Yuuri wondered if he would ever recover from hurting Victor like this. ‘You… you don’t mean that. You can’t. You’re just afraid.’  
  
‘No, Victor,’ Yuuri said, trying to be stern. ‘I’m not afraid. That’s not what this is. I know what I want to do, but I don’t want to do it with you.’  
  
‘Stop it,’ Victor snapped down the phone, panic there and Yuuri flinched. He wanted to take it back, but there was nothing he could do now. Despite everything, this was where they were always bound to be. ‘Just stop it. I know you, Yuuri. Something has happened. Just tell me what’s wrong, let me help!’  
  
‘You don’t,’ Yuuri said, voice cracking and he bent his head, ashamed as Yuuri admitted something that true for the first time. ‘You don’t know me, Victor. You only think you do.’  
  
‘That’s not true,’ Victor said firmly, his belief beautiful and Yuuri felt his heart fold. Pressing the half that loved Victor and the half that was breaking together. ‘What is this, Yuuri? What are you trying to do?’

  
‘This is over, Victor,’ Yuuri said, opening his eyes to the dusk-light of his bedroom. The carnage of his bed, where Eros spilled over it and onto the floor. ‘This thing between us is over. That’s what I wanted to tell you.’  
  
‘You said it meant something to you,’ Victor interrupted, throwing Yuuri’s own words back at him. ‘You told me to trust you and I have, Yuuri. I’ve trusted you. So trust me back, tell me what’s wrong.’  
  
‘I don’t want you,’ Yuuri lied, voice shaking between his teeth. ‘I thought… I thought things were different. But they aren’t, Victor. I’m not quitting my job for you and I’m not doing this anymore.’  
  
‘Yuuri, stop-’  
  
‘You’re going to have a really great life, Victor,’ Yuuri said, meaning it though his heart was lead in his chest with the weight of it. ‘You’re going to be so amazing. And you will find someone to share that with. But it won’t be me.’  
  
‘Please, don’t,’ Victor said and with a kick in the gut, Yuuri realised Victor was crying. But Victor wasn’t nearby, wasn’t in arms reach. Yuuri couldn’t hold Victor close and soothe the sting like he could with Phichit. It ached, to be so far and to hurt Victor so much. ‘Please stop this, Yuuri. I don’t understand.’  
  
‘I know you don’t. And I’m sorry, but this is the way it has to be,’ Yuuri said, jaw trembling like an earthquake as Yuuri fought to keep his voice steady. Fought the sob that lurked in the back of his throat. ‘I have to go.’  
  
‘Don’t you dare!’ Victor all but shouted down the phone and Yuuri held onto it so tightly, the smooth edges of it dug into his fingers. ‘Don’t you dare just- just hang up like that. Not until you explain yourself. What happened between us was real, I know it was.’  
  
‘It’s not enough, Victor,’ Yuuri admitted, feeling so weary. ‘I know you don’t understand, but I can’t give you what you want.’  
  
‘All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be yourself,’ Victor pled desperately and Yuuri felt the tears slip down his own cheeks, too sunken in his misery to wipe at them. ‘Tell me what’s wrong, Yuuri. Please tell me.’  
  
‘Victor, please-’  
  
‘I love you, Yuuri,’ Victor said and Yuuri froze, the words landing on his lap. Too delicate to hold onto. Yuuri shut his eyes again, took a deep breath. ‘And I know you love me, too.’  
  
‘I never said that,’ Yuuri replied, because it was true and it would hurt. The small intake of breath of the other end of the phone confirmed that to Yuuri. Yuuri felt like a knife was turning in his stomach, pulling desperation around in a tight spiral. But Yuuri needed Victor to let go. Any doubt and Yuuri knew, he just knew, Victor would keep fighting. Yuuri couldn’t take that risk.  
  
‘What are you saying? That you were just pretending?’ Victor asked and he sounded disgusted. Furious. Yuuri punched his own leg, needing to release the ticking anxiety that welled up inside of him.  
  
‘I told you before that it was my job, Victor,’ Yuuri whispered, ashamed to say such heartless things. Like Yuuri’s heart wasn’t beneath the words, screaming to Victor across the miles. ‘It’s my job.’  
  
‘You’re lying,’ Victor said again and Yuuri wanted to scream. He wanted to confess that yes, he was lying. Wanted to take back every hurtful thing he’d said. But Yuuri said nothing, thinking of Phichit’s wounded face from hours before. Yuuri couldn’t be selfish anymore. ‘Why are you saying this, Yuuri? I don’t understand why you’re doing this. What we have is different. I’m different, I know I’m different.’  
  
Yuuri licked his bleeding lip, hating himself. ‘Every client thinks they’re different.’  
  
Victor didn’t say anything to that. Or couldn’t. Yuuri wasn’t sure but he felt tainted- like his lie was a stain beneath his skin. Yuuri ran a hand through his hair, twisted his fingers in it and pulled. Pulled tight like he might pull himself out of the submerging heartbreak that was hurting Victor.  
  
‘I’m sorry,’ Yuuri said honestly, tears betrayed by the way his voice stuck in his throat like a whine. ‘I’m so sorry.’  
  
‘Yuuri, I-’  
  
‘Goodbye, Victor,’ Yuuri said firmly, before he hung up the phone.  
  
Yuuri threw the phone. It banged off his bedroom wall, above the bed and then fell down into the mess there. Lost. Yuuri leaned forward, hugging his knees to his chest and sobbing. Yuuri let it all out, pouring heartbreak like water. He choked on his tears, whined into the fabric of his trousers. Victor’s pained voice rattled in Yuuri’s ears like bones and there was no peace.  
  
‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ Yuuri sobbed to a Victor that couldn’t hear him, a Victor Yuuri so desperately wanted to have. It hurt more than Yuuri thought anything could possibly hurt him, to give something up. Yuuri wondered if he’d ever lose the ache that had blossomed inside of him where Victor’s voice had gone through like a blade.  
  
Yuuri wasn’t sure how long he had sat there, crying until he was spent. Until his throat was torn and his head ached heavy. But slowly, eventually, Yuuri made himself stand up. He walked over to his en-suite, washed his face with cold water. Turned his cheeks red with the chill, staring at the blurred reflection of himself. Eros was gone. Victor was gone. There was only one thing left to be.  
  
When Yuuri finally made himself go to Phichit’s room, he didn’t even wait to be let in. He opened the door, walking into Phichit’s room as Phichit sat up on his bed. He looked small to Yuuri, slim body curled up in what looked like a nest of various cushions from around the house. The hamsters scrambled across the duvet, startled by Yuuri’s sudden entrance.  
  
‘You were right,’ Yuuri said, before Phichit could say anything. Phichit snapped his mouth shut, grey eyes watching Yuuri widely. It was just about all Yuuri could make out without his glasses. ‘I was a coward when I quit skating. And you were right to say that I didn’t think about you, or your feelings. But I’m not going to do that anymore.’  
  
‘Yuuri,’ Phichit said, but Yuuri raised his hand to show he wasn’t finished yet. Something hardened in Yuuri’s soul where love had made him soft. Something hard enough to shield Phichit with, no matter what Yakov Feltsman or Meredith Thorton threw at them.  
  
‘I’m here for you,’ Yuuri said, resolute. ‘And I always will be. No more being selfish, no more being a coward. I promise you. You need help with anything; training, the quad, I’ll help you. I’ll give you everything I got. If you want me.’  
  
‘Of course!’ Phichit said immediately, sitting up straighter. Wincing, again, as his hip must’ve twinged from the movement. Yuuri smiled sympathetically, the muscles drawn tight it felt so wrong to smile given how torn inside he felt. Yuuri walked across the room, careful to the door behind him to prevent hamster escape.  
  
Yuuri sat down on the bed, gently moving a hamster aside as he did so. He reached out for Phichit, gripping his shoulder tightly and meeting Phichit’s gaze head on.  
  
‘Then you need to do something for me,’ Yuuri said, watching Phichit’s face grow determined. ‘You need to let me go. You can’t let what I did, or what I achieved or didn’t achieve hold you back anymore. If you want to do this, if you want to be better, than you need to stop skating in my shadow.’  
  
Phichit opened his mouth, evidently confused but Yuuri spoke over him.  
  
‘I know you said you didn’t care about winning,’ Yuuri said, watching as Phichit flushed slightly. ‘But you should. I really think you can do well, Phichit. But you won’t be able to until you believe in yourself like I believe in you. There isn’t enough room on the podium for the both of us and you’ll only be able to make it when you decide to be your own skater. Do you understand?’  
  
‘Yes,’ Phichit said, sounding driven. Yuuri leaned forward, pulling Phichit into a hug.  
  
‘I won’t abandon you again,’ Yuuri promised, tears hot in the corner of his eyes. Phichit hugged him back, tight and pulling Yuuri’s back at an awkward angle. But Yuuri didn’t care. Because it was going to be different this time. Yuuri hadn’t been selfish and this time when he made a promise, he would keep it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> www.victorsporosya.tumblr.com


	16. Collision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phichit has some gumption and Victor proceeds to sink his perfect teeth into it.  
> (Happy Birthday, Victor!)
> 
>  **Possible trigger warnings:** Drunken sexual conduct alluded to, but not shown.  
>  Could be interpreted as dubious consent, but was not intended or written as such.  
> Mild threat of violence.  
> No rape/non-con.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to take this moment to thank everyone for their support to me and this story. 
> 
> I know I have many, many comments that are still unanswered and I want to extend my most sincere apologies to those of who took the time to write me a comment that I haven't replied to. I want you to know that I read every single one and treasure them so deeply. 
> 
> I want to thank all of you who did so, from the very top of my head to the bottom of my heart. Every comment you wonderful people took the chance to take the time to leave me, every remarkably kind anon I've received and the heartwarming messages you guys have reached out to me with- I remember every one, read every one and every single one makes my heart feel so full it might burst from my chest. 
> 
> I could never have imagined when I first published this how kind people would be to me about it. I'm really sorry if I let anyone of you down in my lack of response, but please know that I have not been ignoring any of the feedback I've received. I've just found it difficult to keep up with the traffic and manage writing/recovery/real life, so I'm taking this moment to thank all of you and to let you know that your support, your feedback and your general loveliness is what keeps me inspired. And I could never thank you all enough for that, but I hope I can keep trying to do so.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to all of you. And especially those who commented with _Yuuri needs to stop lying_ , because you my dear friends, are very right.
> 
> All my love,  
> Adele

Victor let himself sink to the bottom of the pool, shock of the cold water hitting him all the way to the bone. He floated in the hollow space for a moment, submerged as his skin pimpled from the chill. Victor waited for his breath to burn in his chest before pushing up, breaking along the top of the water with a gasp. He shivered, arms shaking as he reached out for a breaststroke.  
  
Turned out even Barcelona was cold in December.  
  
Victor had the pool to himself, the late hour and low temperature seemingly putting other hotel patrons off the rooftop setting. As he lazily lapped, Victor took in the hum of Barcelona beneath him. European cosmopolitan and Christmas lights striped the streets in reds, golds and purples that blushed at the edges from the distance of being so high up. It really was beautiful down there, but Victor just hadn’t found it in himself to wander any further from the hotel than to the rink for practice.  
  
There was something just too terrible in doing the things Victor had planned on doing with Yuuri alone. He’d politely turned down all of Mila’s invitations to explore the Christmas markets that papered the streets, instead focusing all his energy on practicing his restored short-program.  
  
‘Why add a step sequence just to remove it?’ a perplexed Yuri had asked him when Victor had told Yakov at training that he would be reverting his short-program back to the original composition.  
  
‘It just doesn’t feel right anymore,’ Victor had said then, which was true. Yakov had said nothing on the change-  accurately guessing the cause of Victor’s thinly veiled misery, though he didn’t say it. Not that Victor would dare confirm it, anyway. There was only so much he could take and Yakov’s gloating was certainly pushing too far over Victor’s threshold.  
  
The closest they had come to discussing it at all had been the day Victor had called Yuuri. Yakov had met Victor walking into the rink while Yakov had been walking out, just finished his training with the junior team. It was supposed to have been Victor’s day off, but Victor could think of nothing else to do after what Yuuri had done. The only cure for a broken heart Victor had ever learned. Or been taught.  
  
‘The Japanese?’ Yakov had asked, knowing Victor too well. ‘Skate. It will help.’

Victor had nothing to say to that, but he had taken Yakov’s advice. He’d skated and skated, until the ice was as torn up as Victor felt himself. But even after, Victor refused to admit that Yakov had been right all along.  
  
Victor had already felt foolish enough, that first day.

Calling Yuuri in the first place had been an impulsive, silly decision driven by Victor’s insecurity on booking a hotel room for Barcelona. Not wanting to pressure Yuuri, Victor had booked a twin room but then felt the need to reach out. To confirm, to check. Perhaps Victor knew, even then, something wasn’t right and he’d wanted the reassurance, the words from Yuuri’s mouth that Yuuri would be where he’d promised. More the fool Victor, as it turned out.  
  
As Victor swam, he wondered if things would’ve been different had he not called. Would Yuuri have called him instead? Or would Yuuri simply just not have come, and never said a word about it?  
  
Not too long ago, Victor would’ve thought he’d known the answer to that question. But if there was one thing that had been made quite clear, Victor really didn’t know that much about Katsuki Yuuri. If he knew anything for certain at all. Victor turned in the water, eyes losing focus of the dotted lights of Barcelona city.  
  
Victor was twenty-seven years old, very soon to be twenty-eight. And though Yakov obviously felt Victor was still making the same mistakes he’d made at nineteen, offering Victor the same advice he’d given Victor then- there was something different about this time. Before, heartbreak stuck to Victor like a stain he couldn’t wash off. This time, the heartbreak just did not seem to take.  
  
At first, Victor thought it was shock.

The initial conversation with Yuuri had snapped a fear inside of Victor so sharp it punctured a hole through him. The words Yuuri was trying to pass through, the tale he was spinning clashed so horribly in Victor’s mind. It tore at the seams of what Victor had been so sure of, of what he had defended to Yakov and never felt the need to defend to himself. And in one phone call, Yuuri had snuffed the light of that trust out in a breath.  
  
What Victor had felt then- that ugly, swooping emptiness that opened like a mouth deep in his stomach, the swallowing panic of Yuuri not only rejecting him, but _hurting_ him- it was great enough for Victor to drown in. Victor had cried, unable to stop it and unable to stop himself from pleading with Yuuri to take it back. But Yuuri had hung up instead, cutting Victor out like it was ever to be that simple.  
  
Victor had sat in that hurt for hours. Calling Yuuri again yielded nothing, but Victor couldn’t think of what else to do. He held Makkachin to his chest, (who came willingly and with a small whine of sympathy), listening to her fluttering heartbeat as Victor tried to reconcile the Yuuri from Moscow and the Yuuri in Detroit. But something just wasn’t connecting.

Yakov had always said it would end this way, told Victor that it was delusion to think Yuuri loved him. And that first night, Victor believed that. The things Yuuri had said were so hurtful, so telling in their callousness. Victor felt like he had been sleepwalking straight into oncoming traffic, only to wake up right before something hit him so he wouldn’t even have the relief of not feeling it. The shock of it soon seemed to render Victor cold; there was only so much crying his body could take. And once his heart was dry of it, Victor had followed Yakov’s words all the way back to the rink.

‘Go. Skate. You know it will not always feel this way,’ Yakov had said as they passed, squeezing Victor’s shoulder so tight it hurt.  
  
Victor waited for that first heartbreak to come back to him. To circle back around, like it always did whenever Victor found himself cracked with it. The tears to bloom, the mouth of hurt to swallow him. But the more Victor skated, the more detached from what Yuuri had said he felt. Victor had frowned at his skates, stared at the gold of them as he’d turned in unsteady circles. Shock, he’d thought. What else could it be?  
  
It couldn’t be that Victor didn’t care. Victor loved Yuuri. No matter what else had happened, Victor was sure of that. So it would hurt again, that Yuuri did not love him back. Victor knew it would have to.  
  
But something just seemed to be missing from the story Yuuri had given him, the one Yakov had claimed was inevitable. Something was missing and it’s absence had sprouted something more sinister than heartbreak- doubt.  
  
Doubt was just hope with teeth and it tore at Victor’s heart with bite.  
  
In the final trainings before the Grand Prix, Victor had retreated to his original choreography for sake of comfort. But every turn away from the steps he’d inspired in Yuuri only drove Victor closer and closer towards the thought that something wasn’t right. It had been Victor’s first instinct when Yuuri had told him he wanted to end things and days later, it still sat like a stone in Victor’s chest.  
  
There wasn’t any proof. Nothing for Victor to hold onto except what he knew of Yuuri. Which was not much, if anything. But Victor just couldn’t let it go and bizarrely, the suspicion that Yuuri was hiding something, was lying to Victor about something stoppered any hurt Victor felt. Maybe Victor was wrong, maybe it was wishful thinking or perhaps delusion, as Yakov had called it. But the thought was stuck like a thorn in Victor’s mind and he couldn’t pull himself free of it.  
  
Victor took a breath, the air clouding in the chill above the water. He closed his eyes and sank back down beneath the surface of the pool, feet scrubbing along the edges of the tile.

Yuuri had been crying when he broke up Victor. Victor could tell, no matter how much Yuuri had tried to hide it. And he’d said he was sorry. Why feel that way if he didn’t care? It was the memory of Yuuri crying, the sound of his voice trembling that would wake Victor from unremembered dreams. The knowledge that Yuuri was hurting but that Victor wasn’t there to soothe it a nervous tick in Victor’s heart.  
  
Victor didn’t really have a plan, but he knew he had to do something. He had the loose idea of going back to Detroit after the final, to find Yuuri himself; mad as it was. But Victor didn’t want to push Yuuri, didn’t want him to feel unsafe or hounded. It narrowed his options, but if Victor wanted to help, then he needed Yuuri to want that help. Or least, to know it was there for him should Yuuri need it. The only question was how.  
  
Knowing that he had a competition this weekend seemed almost nominal in comparison to Victor trying to think around that problem. But there was something familiar in trying to orchestrate himself around the hurt Yuuri had shot in him, something that kept Victor from crumbling down into that despair. It was dangerous, Victor knew, to dare think the situation was anything other than what Yuuri had told him. But the alternative was just…  
  
Victor broke the surface of the pool, gasping in the cold air for a few moments. He pushed his hair back off his face with both hands, water blurring the skyline as it ran down his face.  
  
While Victor wondered if he was doing the right thing, he was certain that if he didn’t try, the grief would kill something in him he may never get back.  
  
_‘Quel surprise!’_ a voice chimed from behind him and Victor turned in the water with a steady sway, watching as Chris walked towards him.  
  
Chris was wrapped in a bathrobe that he’d certainly brought for himself, (going by the shimmering purple satin of it compared to Victor’s standard white robe from his hotel room), and swinging a bottle of champagne in one hand. Victor gave Chris a look, one that he felt Chris wouldn’t be able to spot as he appeared to be wearing sunglasses despite the late hour of the night.  
  
‘I thought, other than me, only a Russian would be stupid enough to get into a pool this time of year,’ Chris joked, walking all the way up to the edge of said pool. He tilted his head, his smile broad as he took Victor in from behind his impractical sunglasses. ‘I guess I was right! And here I was hoping to go skinny dipping!’  
  
Chris punctuated that by sticking his tongue out in a tease which Victor was not in the humour to appreciate. Victor shrugged beneath the water, starting to float over towards the ladder.

‘Don’t let me stop you,’ Victor replied dully, staring at Chris’ slippered feet. Chris whined dramatically.  
  
‘And here I was hoping you’d take some photos for me,’ he said as Victor swam. Chris waved his phone, like it might in some way tempt Victor back.  
  
‘Sorry to disappoint.’  
  
‘You’ve been ignoring my calls,’ Chris said, walking in his slippers towards the ladder himself. Victor kept what he felt was a dignified silence, treading water. ‘Though I hear I’m not special. Taking up being a hermit, are we?’  
  
‘You know my training is strict,’ Victor replied casually but Chris just hummed thoughtfully.

‘Yes, your General Feltsman’s rulings are quite infamous. You actually following them, however? Unheard of.’  
  
Victor had no reply for that, his contemplation about Yuuri still weighing too heavy on his mind to allow him any thought of a retort. He reached the ladder, about to pull himself up when he was unceremoniously plunged back into the water by a slippered foot on his head. Victor spluttered, shaking his head like Makkachin once he’d caught his breath back above water.  
  
‘What was that for?’ Victor said, coughing chlorine. Chris pushed his sunglasses up, regarding Victor with interest.  
  
‘Not like you to leave a party early.’  
  
‘I’m not leaving a party, I’m leaving you.’  
  
‘I am the party, as you well know,’ Chris said, wriggling his eyebrows. He leaned down, placing the champagne and single glass he’d brought down onto the ceramic edging. Chris undid his robe, leaving it in a heap by the bottle as Victor pushed away, leaving space for Chris to hop into the pool himself. ‘And no one’s allowed to leave my company with such a solemn look on their face. You’ll ruin my reputation.’  
  
Victor huffed, breath swirling white as he swam away from Chris, towards the other side of the pool and the other ladder.  
  
‘I’m sure your reputation will survive,’ Victor said listlessly, only to be blocked again by Chris as he swam out in front of Victor. Chris’ smile was gone now, his tailored eyebrows knitted together in concern. Victor puffed out his lips in a pout. ‘Do you need something? Or do you just want me to freeze in this pool for the rest of the night?’  
  
‘Okay. What’s up with you?’ Chris asked bluntly, shoving at the water so it splashed a little in Victor’s face. Victor wiped his cheeks of it. ‘You ignore the world. I hear you’re changing your short program _again._ And to top it all off, you’re up here alone. In the dark. Looking like your dog died.’  
  
Victor scoffed, horrified. ‘Don’t even say such a thing.’  
  
‘Don’t look like such a thing,’ Chris retorted and Victor frowned at him, kicking backwards so he floated away. Chris chased after him, water lapping. ‘You can’t swim away from me, Nikiforov.’  
  
‘Watch me, _putain.’_

‘Such language!’ Chris exclaimed, face open in exaggerated horror. ‘I’m taller than you. And stronger. If I want you to stay in this pool, you will be staying in this pool.’  
  
Victor did not believe Chris was really strong enough to keep him in the water. But he wasn’t exactly about to challenge that belief either. Victor swam back as far as the pool edge, giving Chris a very stern look before tossing his head behind him.  
  
‘Open that champagne then.’

Chris grinned. ‘Gladly.’  
  
They shared the one glass between them, Victor downing his first two with more fervour than champagne deserved. Chris said nothing the first time, but as Victor wiped his mouth of trickling champagne from the second glass, Chris seemed unable to not comment any further.

‘Is there a reason you’re treating my expensive bottle of champagne so poorly?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Victor said, handing the glass back over to Chris for his own drink. Chris took the glass, carefully placing it back on the ceramic. Victor looked away stubbornly, out across the horizon.  
  
‘Boy trouble then,’ Chris said and Victor rounded on him, gaping. Before he could say anything, Chris tapped his own nose and raised his eyebrows. ‘Victor, you’re the ISU’s favourite motormouth. But the only thing you’ve ever managed to shut up about was your love life.’  
  
Victor chewed on his words for a moment, caught, before finally saying petulantly; ‘I am not a motormouth.’  
  
‘It’s the one world record absolutely no one has a chance of beating you in, _mon cheri.’_ _  
_

‘Thanks,’ Victor grumbled, sinking slightly beneath the water so it lapped beneath his nose. It was mostly an excuse not to talk anymore, but sadly he could still hear Chris as his ears were unfortunately free of pool water.  
  
‘So? _Allez!’_ Chris clapped his hands. ‘Tell me. Who’s got you so forlorn?’  
  
Victor said nothing, staring at his own rippling hands beneath the blue water and staying halfway submerged. Chris sighed, poking at Victor’s hair. Victor ignored him, knowing he was attempting to bait Victor into getting his mouth out of the water.  
  
‘You can sulk all you like, but I will find out. So be a good boy and tell me what happened.’  
  
Victor sank lower, the tip of his nose brushing the water.

 _‘Merde._ That bad, huh?’  
  
Victor blew bubbles. He could see Chris shaking his head in the corner of his eye.  
  
‘I didn’t even know you were seeing someone,’ Chris pressed, Victor stretching his legs out in the water. ‘You’ve been strangely camera shy these last few months. You weren’t dating someone you shouldn’t have been, were you?’  
  
Victor rose out of the water, pushing back until his shoulders met the pool edge. He stared down at his feet through the water so he wouldn’t have to meet Chris’ eye.  
  
‘Not exactly,’ Victor said, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘It’s… complicated.’  
  
He sounded like Yuuri now. Great.  
  
Chris blew out a breath; ‘Was it serious?’  
  
Victor closed his eyes, not quite able to bring himself to answer Chris’ question. He tugged on his own neck, dragged the skin there. Just to tether himself somewhat to the conversation. Victor felt like his mind was floating like his body, unable to find a footing. He settled for nodding and Chris whistled.

‘I didn’t even know you did serious.’  
  
‘Neither did I.’  
  
‘Serious for you must be- well, a heart attack.’

‘It certainly feels that way,’ Victor replied, a lump suddenly catching in his throat. He looked away quickly, embarrassed. He always cried so damn easy.  
  
‘I assume it didn’t work out,’ Chris said, sounding genuinely sympathetic. Victor turned to look at him when he felt a little less raw to see Chris was offering out the glass again, filled once more champagne. Victor took it gratefully, being sure to appreciate his sip this time around. ‘I’m sorry, Victor. That’s terrible.’  
  
‘It’s not great,’ Victor admitted, taking another sip of champagne. He watched the yellow bubbles of it, catching the reflection of the pool tiles.  
  
‘What was he like? This guy?’

‘To be honest, he’s kind of a shithead,’ Victor said bitterly, still bruised despite everything. Chris laughed lightly, shaking his head. He adjusted the sunglasses on his head as he regarded Victor with keen eyes.  
  
‘It’s always the shitheads, _cheri,’_ Chris said kindly, nodding sagely like he had the all answers. Victor polished off his champagne. ‘They have a nasty habit of breaking your heart.’  
  
Victor swirled the empty glass, wrist spiraling ripples along the surface of the pool as he considered that.  
  
Everything about Yuuri felt like it was swelling inside of him, pushing out Victor’s edges until he was almost transparent in his misery. Victor wasn’t sure how to begin talking about Yuuri, where to even start, having grown so used to not saying a word about it in the silence of his apartment back in Saint Petersburg. There was no one to talk to at home, no one could understand. But now, Victor found himself itching to let it out, craving some relief to the loneliness that was stuck in him like splinter.  
  
Victor felt numb with the ache Yuuri had wrought in him, but cornered by it, too. Like it was something too surreal for Chris to possibly understand even if Victor were to speak about it. Perhaps it was.  
  
‘He did a good job of it,’  Victor said miserably, running his tongue long his teeth nervously. Trying to find the words.  
  
‘Was he good looking? Funny? Smart?’ Chris asked, raising an eyebrow. Victor nodded and Chris hummed in acknowledgement. ‘Typical. Well, you’re you, _cheri._ If he can’t see how special you, of all people, are then he doesn’t deserve you. Come on, have more champagne and see if it can help on the way to getting over _le shithead.’_  
  
‘What if I don’t want to get over him?’ Victor asked as Chris poured another glass of champagne. Chris looked up, even tipping some champagne into the pool he was so distracted.  
  
_‘Merde._ Sorry,’ Chris said, quickly replacing the champagne and glass on the edge of the pool. ‘Sorry, I don’t want to- well, I don’t mean to cruel, darling. But I’m honestly surprised to hear you say that.’  
  
‘Why?’ Victor asked, curious. Chris shrugged, glossed lips pouted.  
  
‘I guess I just didn’t think you had this in you,’ Chris said bluntly, though he sounded sorry about it. Victor bristled.  
  
‘Really? You’re going to say that. You?’  
  
‘Don’t be mean,’ Chris chided, pushing at Victor’s shoulder. ‘It’s just in all the time I’ve known you, you never seemed to show much of an interest in finding someone. Someone… real, anyway.’  
  
_Real,_ Victor thought bitterly. Hah. If only Chris knew.  
  
Perhaps his sour thought showed on Victor’s face, as Chris was now watching him quite closely. Chris swam closer, shoulders bumping against Victor’s from where they floated.  
  
‘I’m not saying I think you’re cold,’ Chris said gently, touching Victor’s shoulder with a wet hand. Victor looked past him, out across the skyline again. ‘If anything, I know how much of a romantic you really are beneath it all. But I’ve always thought you were romantic in a more- how do I say? Surface way? It's just I've never seen you with anyone for longer than a month, if even that. I just assumed that you were too busy for anything more than the romance itself, that the  _getting together_ wasn’t something you ever gave any real consideration.’  
  
‘Probably just as well,’ Victor said, breath clouding. ‘I’m just as terrible at being in love as I’ve always been.’  
  
‘No one’s terrible at being in love,’ Chris said kindly but Victor scoffed.  
  
‘Believe me,’ Victor said firmly, mind wandering past Yuuri and not the first time since everything had turned wrong. Going down all the paths Victor had tried to bury. ‘If there were medals for love, I wouldn’t even make the podium. Not this time, or the last time either.’  
  
Chris seemed to think about that for a moment. ‘This guy has really done a number on you, hasn’t he?’  
  
Victor avoided Chris’ eye, staring down the length of the pool. His eyes were stinging again, something turning his heart around in his chest. Like it were looking over it’s shoulder, looking for someone to catch Victor should he fall. But there had never been anyone but Victor to hold himself up. It was a heavy feeling that made Victor want to just sink down beneath the surface of the water, breathe water in to drown the hurt Yuuri had bred inside of him.  
  
‘Well, I suppose there’s not much for it but more champagne?’ Chris suggested when Victor had still not said anything. Victor just shrugged as Chris poured more champagne for the pair of them.  
  
They had made a steady headway into the bottle not long after and Victor was beginning to feel a wrinkle in his skin that had nothing to do with the water. Chris’ jokes were slipping between English and French now, hands tipping like scales as he told stories from his last competition. Chris had never been one to hold his liquor well and Victor was remembering this fact with an amusement that only seemed to come to him drunk lately.  
  
‘Victor, I know I said this already,’ Chris said, lisp pronounced under the influence of half a bottle of champagne. ‘But that guy you’re so miserable about, he really doesn’t deserve all this. _Je m’en fou,_ he must be crazy to give you up.’  
  
‘Thanks, Chris,’ Victor replied, smile dying on his lips instantly as Yuuri came back the front of his mind. Yuuri’s eyes, his hands. His narrow wrists. Victor passed the glass back over. ‘I’ll try to remember that.’  
  
‘Maybe you could see our friend back in Detroit?’ Chris suggested with a smirk and Victor felt like all the air had been knocked out of him. A punch to the chest. ‘Sounds like you could do with another dose of cheering up and you both got on so well last time! Maybe you can take him to a real bar this time around though, not just some kid’s house party.’  
  
‘I… I don’t think so,’ Victor said, his voice a breath as he struggled to keep up with the emotion that suddenly burst inside him. Something about the drink, or maybe the late hour, (or maybe something else altogether), had the memory of Yuuri on the phone the other week cutting Victor right up the centre so he bled.  
  
‘It’ll be good for you! I can set it up for you again, if Eros is still mad at you for… well, for whatever it is you did that had us at that party in the first place,’ Chris continued, ignoring Victor as he readjusted his sunglasses. Victor could see himself in the reflection of the lenses, pale and eyes wide.  
  
‘I’m not going to do that, Chris.’  
  
‘Why not?’ Chris’ eyebrows frowned behind his sunglasses and they slipped down his nose. ‘Did you do something really bad? You must’ve done something bad-’  
  
‘I don’t know what I did!’ Victor snapped, shocking both of them with the outburst. Chris pushed his sunglasses further down his nose, looking at Victor dead on. Any semblance of champagne glaze gone from his eyes. Victor shied away, pushing through the water to get some space. ‘Please, just forget it.’  
  
‘Okay, did you just… shout at me?’ Chris asked slowly, looking more confused. ‘You didn’t even shout at me the one time you were supposed to. What’s that about?’  
  
‘You can’t guess?’ Victor murmured, water lapping between them. Chris snorted.  
  
‘I’m not a mind-reader, Victor. Is this about Eros or your ex?’  
  
When Victor said nothing to that, tears finally breaking through, Chris pushed himself through the water and put an arm around Victor’s shoulder. Victor’s skin pimpled from the chill of Chris’ arm, rippling down his back and he shivered. Chris rubbed soothing circles, his body warm against Victor’s.  
  
‘Okay, okay Forget about Detroit. Is this about something else?’  
  
Something smarted, like Victor had been slapped.  
  
‘No. It’s still about Yuuri,’ Victor admitted quietly. It was quiet for a moment, then-  
  
‘Yuri?’ Chris said, sounding confused. Then his face changed, mouth opening wide and eyes round in horror. He shoved Victor, hard, so Victor nearly lost his balance and fell beneath the water again. Victor stammered, but Chris was already speaking, voice a hurried hush; ‘He’s fifteen, Victor! _Merde!_ What were you thinking?’  
  
‘What? Oh… _No!’_ Victor cried, horrified. The water splashed into his eyes he waved his hands so hard in protest. ‘Ugh, god. No, no, no! Jesus, not Yuri Plisetsky. Christ.’  
  
‘Oh, thank god,’ Chris practically wailed, dramatically leaning back against the edge of the pool, arms above his head in surrender. ‘You scared the life out of me there. I mean, you’re my friend, _cheri_ and I love you, but oh my god. I don’t know what I would’ve done.’  
  
‘God, no,’ Victor said, repulsed and embarrassed. ‘No. That’s not- no. Just no.’  
  
‘Glad to hear it,’ Chri said, relieved as he patted Victor on the back. Victor covered his face in his hands, mortified. ‘Wait, so there’s another Yuri?’  
  
Victor had forgotten, had been referring to Yuuri by his real name for so long that it never even crossed his mind that Chris could have no way of knowing it. This dissonance caught Victor off-guard, managing to stop the threat of hot tears for a moment. He wiped at his face, spreading chlorine across his cheeks like paint.  
  
‘Yes,’ he said, scared to say anything else. Afraid that once he started, Victor wouldn’t be able to stop.  
  
‘And this other Yuri, he’s the guy who broke your heart?’ Chris asked, looking at Victor very sternly over his sunglasses. Victor nodded, feeling the tears prickle again. Almost ticklish. ‘Okay. Tell me about Yuri then.’  
  
‘I don’t know-’  
  
‘I know you want to, Victor,’ Chris interrupted, giving Victor a look that was just too understanding for Victor’s liking. He blinked quickly, resolute in not wiping at his face to show how close to tears he still was. ‘And it will help to get it out. It’s obviously eating at you.’  
  
‘I’m not obvious,’ Victor muttered, giving in and wiping at the tear that managed to get past.  
  
Victor looked away, embarrassed and unable to take Chris’ sympathy. Chris was silent still; waiting. Victor knew Chris was right, knew that ever since it had first crossed his mind, the truth about Yuuri had been sitting on the tip of his tongue all evening. But there was something terrible in saying it aloud. Like it would somehow make it something too real for Victor to wish away.  
  
‘Alright,’ Victor said at last, taking a deep breath. He looked at Chris, determined not to cry. ‘I’m going to tell you. And you’re probably not going to like it. But I have… I have had this thing in my heart for so long and no one to say it to. No one who would understand.’  
  
Chris said nothing, moving his sunglasses back up so they rested on his head. He was listening intently, balancing his arm on the edge of the pool to stay steady as Victor mulled around his words. But everything about it, every single last thing about it hurt and Victor just couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t bear to hold it in. So-

‘Eros’ real name is Yuuri,’ Victor said at last, chest a narrow space where his love with Yuuri still burned like a flame. He wrapped his arms around his chest. ‘Eros is the guy.’

‘Eros? Eros the prostitute?’ Chris said, voice catching in his confusion. Victor squeezed his eyes shut, waiting. ‘Eros’ real name is Yuuri. How..? Victor, _how_ do you know that?’

‘We were… we were something,’ Victor said slowly, feeling Chris’ eyes on him in accusation. Victor forced himself to look up, arms tight around himself. ‘It’s why I know his real name. He told me when we started- whatever it was between us. But he broke up with me.’

‘What do you mean he broke up with you? You’re not dating your escort, Victor,’ Chris said sternly, like Victor were being particularly slow on something. Victor flushed, feeling his nose and cheeks burn with it.

‘He wasn’t my escort. Not exactly. It’s complicated.’

‘I’ll bet,’ Chris scoffed, pushing his own hair out of his face. He whistled again, but it was very different to the last time. ‘Fuck, Victor. What happened? Start from the beginning.’  
  
Victor did. The more he talked, the looser his tongue and the more the weight in his heart shifted. It didn’t go anywhere, but the wound Yuuri had laid into him suddenly seemed closer. Like Victor were pressing both halves of the story together, the beginning and the end. Where somewhere in the middle, Victor might find the answer for it all.  
  
When Victor was finished, Chris didn’t say anything for a long time. Chris wasn’t looking at him anymore. Instead, his hazel eyes were downcast and focused on the rippling surface of the water.

‘Victor, what were you thinking?’ Chris finally asked, voice firm. Not a trace of mirth or champagne in the words. Victor put his face in his wrinkled hands, skin pruned from the water. ‘Do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into?’

‘Well, it hardly matters now, does it? Because Yuuri is gone,’ Victor said, running his hands through his damp hair. Victor looked straight up at the black sky, the winking stars.

‘You brought him to Moscow, introduced him to your family.’  
  
‘Work family.’  
  
‘For you they’re one in the same,’ Chris said, sounding more and more unhappy. Victor sighed, hands dropping back down into the water though he still stared up at the night. ‘Victor, I… I don’t even know where to start. Jesus. If you felt that way about Yuuri, even at the beginning, you should never have pursued it.’  
  
‘You’re the one who introduced us,’ Victor retorted with a look and Chris gaped, frowning.

‘Don’t even try to turn this on me, Nikiforov,’ Chris said sternly and Victor flushed, ashamed. Chris pointed a finger at Victor, eyes dark. ‘You know exactly what I mean. If I had known about Yuuri’s past, I would never have done it. If I’d known any of this, I would never have even suggested. But really, what were you thinking? Of all the unsuitable people to date, you managed to pick the worst… I’m speechless, I’m actually speechless.’  
  
‘It wasn’t like that,’ Victor said, leaping to Yuuri’s defence because he couldn’t not do. ‘Yuuri wasn’t like that. He wasn’t the same with me, wasn’t the way he is with clients-’  
  
_‘You were a client!’_ Chris said, laughing in bafflement. ‘There’s no way, no way you could’ve known that.’

‘Stop it,’ Victor said and Chris’ incredulity sobered up. ‘You don’t know him. Not like I do.’  
  
‘I’ve known him four years, Victor,’ Chris said and Victor scoffed, a stab of insecurity ripping through him like a bullet. ‘And I do believe you, when you say you got to know Yuuri in other ways. Personal ways, like the skating and all that other shit. But Victor, you must see that Yuuri was hardly in a position to deny you.’  
  
Victor felt the nausea hit him so fast, it physically hurt. He swallowed around it, horrified. ‘No… It’s not like that. I didn’t _make_ him.’  
  
‘Of course not,’ Chris said, a little gentler as it must've been obvious how upset Victor was. ‘I’m not saying that. But think about it, Victor. You were his client. You were paying him. There was power there, even if you didn’t feel it. And then with everything else between you; the skating, the history- it couldn’t have helped.’  
  
Victor felt a cold, ugly thing take hold of his heart. A clammy feeling that squeezed a hand around the throat of Victor’s love for Yuuri. Like a threat, a ransom. It was more than sickening, it was harrowing and Victor felt so heavy, he didn’t know what to say. Chris swam a bit closer, regaining the distance that had grown during their conversation.  
  
‘I’m not trying to upset you. But I really think you need to hear this, Victor,’ Chris said quietly, like they were exchanging secrets. Victor pulled further into himself, unsure. ‘Maybe I’m wrong. But I don’t think I am and I think it’s something you need to think about. I know you don’t want to consider it, but maybe Yuuri broke up with you the way he did because he felt it was the only way he could.’  
  
Victor shook his head, fearing he may genuinely throw up. The champagne turned sour at the back of his throat, roiling in his stomach. Yuuri was skimming across Victor’s mind like a stone, rippling across Victor’s surface. Victor remembered the way Yuuri had rushed to him after the free-skate at the Rostelecom Cup. The way he’d leapt into Victor’s arms, and confessed such honesty in the empty corridors of the sports arena. The look on Yuuri’s face when they said goodbye in the airport- his brown eyes and olive skin, warm woodfire to Victor’s flaming heart. Lips chapped from the cold and red from kisses.  
  
There was something wrong with those memories, something that just couldn’t make sense to Victor. It was like they belonged to someone else, or a dream Victor had once that he couldn’t quite remember. Were there signs then? Things Victor hadn’t seen?  
  
But he had been so sure…  
  
‘I... ‘ Victor was choked, tears back before he could stop them. He shook his head again, unsure of what else to do. He pushed away from Chris, giving them more space again. ‘Maybe. Maybe that’s how it started but- but Chris, I promise you; it felt real.’  
  
‘It’s supposed to feel real-’  
  
‘No,’ Victor said, firm. He looked at Chris head on, ignoring the way tears clung to his eyelashes. He reached out, pushing against Chris’ chest in case he tried to move closer. ‘It was different at the end. We had reached somewhere together, somewhere honest and I know Yuuri meant what he said to me then.’  
  
‘Alright,’ Chris said, obviously humouring Victor but Victor found that he didn’t care. ‘Let’s say that’s true, for arguments sake. How exactly would you have made this all work? I mean, did you really believe he had quit his job for you?’  
  
‘I wanted to, at first,’ Victor admitted, but it made him feel so ashamed now. He wiped his cheeks again, moving water. ‘Even at the beginning, before everything else, I wanted to have- I don’t know. A claim.’  
  
‘A claim?’ Chris repeated, dubious. Victor felt colour pour down his neck again.  
  
‘Something that proved Yuuri was mine,’ Victor explained quietly, guilty. ‘I’d never had a relationship where I could call someone mine before. But with Yuuri, it was different. At first, I think it was the money that made it feel that way. I knew it wasn’t real, but I didn’t care because it just felt so nice. Which makes me sound evil, I know.’  
  
‘No, it doesn’t,’ Chris interrupted gently and Victor looked at him again, sniffling. Chris tilted his head sympathetically. ‘It makes sense. We all want to feel secure. But Victor, you can’t own a person.’  
  
‘I know,’ Victor replied plainly. He wiped at his nose, smelling chlorine. Heart heavy with an ache that wouldn’t soothe. ‘At first though, I just got so excited with the idea. But… things are different now. I think they may have been different from the beginning, I just didn’t see it.’  
  
‘What do you mean?’ Chris asked, sounding curious more than anything else. Victor took a deep breath, wondering if he could say it aloud. Wondered if it was too big to say.  
  
‘I don’t want to own Yuuri,’ Victor explained, the truth of the statement rendered onto what felt like his own soul. ‘I don’t want him to be something I possess, or someone I can claim. I really, really don’t.’  
  
‘Then, what do you want?’  
  
Victor leaned back against the wall of the pool, water carrying his weight. Heart carrying Yuuri.  
  
‘I want to be his,’ Victor confessed quietly, almost a whisper. He looked back up at the stars again, missing Yuuri with a grief that went deep. ‘I want to give myself to Yuuri in a way I’ve never wanted to with anyone, _anyone_ else.’  
  
‘Victor…’ Chris said, but he didn’t continue. He seemed as surprised by the words as Victor was when he first started considering them to himself. But Victor knew they were true.  
  
Knew that the affection Yuuri had inspired in him was as real as anything; breathing like a fire and burning the edges of Victor that were fragile and frayed from past mistakes. It was the shock of hitting the ice on his back and simultaneously, that weightless, flying feeling of when Victor got the jump right. Sitting in the warm heart of this, Victor felt more real to himself than he had in a long time.  
  
'You think you've fallen in love with him,’ Chris said, sounding dazed. Victor didn’t deny it- it wasn’t like he could anyway. Chris sat back against the wall of the pool, a hand in his hair and sunglasses falling off his head. They hit the water and floated like a small boat along the surface. Victor stared at them, not quite able to meet Chris’ eye.  
  
‘But Victor, what… what does that even mean for you? Going forward?’ Chris asked, reaching out to touch Victor’s shoulder again. Victor stared at the water, mind spinning on it’s axis. ‘Yuuri ended it. And even if he didn’t, what would the plan be? He’s a whole world away from you.’  
  
‘It doesn’t feel like it,’ Victor said truthfully, sinking lower into the water. It was true; even now, Victor felt like his body was a compass set to Yuuri’s North. The gravity of Victor’s life suddenly turning in one solid direction.  
  
‘But what about Yuuri’s job? Or his life? He said he wouldn’t quit those things.’  
  
‘I don’t care if Yuuri wants to be an escort forever, if he sleeps with other people,’ Victor said quickly, interrupting. He turned to Chris then, determined. ‘Or even falls in love with other people. I just want him to know that I care about him and want to be there for him, no matter what he chooses. I don’t care what he wants from me, just that he knows that he can ask for it.’  
  
Chris’ eyes were round, mouth open in something half-said. Victor set his jaw, not daring to deny a word of what he had said. It would be dishonest to try. Chris squeezed Victor’s shoulder, fingertips pressing in like Yakov’s had that first day. Victor couldn’t help but think of that now. The idea that they were somehow trying to pull him out of Yuuri, like waking from a dream. Victor stayed, resolute.  
  
‘Oh, Victor. You fool,’ Chris said quietly, almost whispering.  
  
‘And if Yuuri doesn’t want that, then that’s okay,’ Victor continued, needing to say it. He bit the inside of his cheek, considering. ‘Well, maybe not okay. It’ll be devastating, but if it’s what he really wants then I’ll give it to him. I’ll give him anything he asks for. But Chris, I really believe something is wrong. I just can’t shake the feeling that Yuuri is in trouble and if I don’t try to help, I’ll never forgive myself.’  
  
‘Victor,’ Chris said again. Victor’s name was beginning to sound strange to himself now. ‘Oh, my friend. What are you going to do?’  
  
‘I… have no idea,’ Victor said, shrugging underneath Chris’ hand. ‘But I have to try something.’  
  
‘Well, count me in,’ Chris said brightly after a few moments and Victor gaped, quite unattractively going by the way Chris reached up with his other hand to close Victor’s mouth for him with a light press. ‘Don’t gawk, darling.’  
  
‘You’ll- you’ll help me?’ Victor stammered, surprised. Chris grinned at him.  
  
‘Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re insane,’ Chris said with an arched brow, the hand that had shut Victor’s mouth for him coming down to pat Victor’s chest reassuring. ‘But it’s not like you to find someone you want to protect, Victor. And if you really think Yuuri is in trouble, then I want to help. And if he’s not- well, I’ll be there to get you home safe and sound.’  
  
Victor couldn’t stop the huge wave of appreciation that flooded through him. For the first time, Victor didn’t feel alone in what was happening and when Victor pushed forward, he couldn’t help the tears that pricked at the corners of his eyes once again. He nearly toppled Chris underneath the surface of the water as Victor wrapped his arms around Chris’ neck to hug him. Chris spluttered, getting pool water into his mouth but Victor didn’t care for his choking, too happy and grateful to let go yet.  
  
‘Thank you, Chris!’  
  
‘Don’t thank me yet. We still have a competition tomorrow that I plan on beating you in!’  
  
Victor and Chris moved to the lounge chairs that lined the pool after, wrapped in their respective bathrobes. Victor tried to discuss strategies for getting through to Yuuri, but Chris shot most of them down, reminding Victor sternly that while he had agreed to help, Chris fully intended to get the Grand Prix Final through with first.  
  
Victor was considerably less interested in the competition than he probably should’ve been, but something about Chris’ promise that they would do _something_ about Yuuri eased the nervous knot that had been in Victor’s stomach. Soon, Victor was tempted around to talking about the Final anyway, though his mind wandered often. To Yuuri, to where he might be. To what he might say if he saw Victor again.  
  
‘Well, looks like your madness for winter swimming is shared,’ Chris said, nodding his head to the door behind where Victor was sitting. Victor looked over his shoulder, following Chris’ line of sight. ‘Is there a conspiracy here I’m not aware of?’  
  
There was someone walking out towards the pool, wearing a tracksuit with a towel thrown over their shoulder. Victor frowned, taking a moment, but once he recognised the person, he reached out to furiously tap on Chris’ thigh.

‘That’s Phichit!’ Victor said, recognising Phichit as the other skater was looking down at his phone, apparently typing away to someone. Chris sat up in his chair, pushing his sunglasses up again.  
  
‘Chulanont, right? From Skate America,’ Chris asked, following Victor’s line of sight. ‘Eros’ roommate?’

Victor nodded, words suddenly stuck in his throat in unusual silence. Victor watched as Phichit walked closer, almost a few feet before Phichit looked up from his phone. Phichit’s eyes were dark like coals and just as round when they met Victor’s gaze first, but then Phichit frowned, eyes narrowing. Phichit’s mouth opened, before he snapped it shut. Then, Phichit turned and started walking back into the hotel.  
  
‘Well, I guess that’s tha- wait, Victor! What are you doing?’ Chris asked, as Victor was standing up and adjusting his robe, quickly shoving his feet into the sandals he’d brought.  
  
‘I’m going to talk to him,’ Victor said, chasing after Phichit quickly. Chris called after him, but Victor didn’t stop. He followed Phichit back into the hotel, quickly casting around to try and spot where Phichit had gone. Victor saw Phichit down the hall, standing before the elevator and tapping his phone impatiently against his thigh.  
  
‘Phichit, wait!’ Victor cried, half-jogging down the hall to where Phichit was. Phichit looked at Victor, before turning back to face the elevator with a stony look on his face. When Victor got close enough, he reached out but stopped himself. Phichit’s entire body was tense, nostrils flared. ‘Phichit, I-’  
  
‘What do you want?’ Phichit snapped, still not looking at Victor. Instead, he leaned forward to press the call button another five or so times incessantly. Victor hovered, unsure as he’d never found Phichit so standoffish.  
  
‘I… I wanted to talk to you,’ Victor said, nervous. He tried to get Phichit to look at him, but Phichit didn’t. Cold, hard doubt burst in Victor’s chest and rendered him breathless. Phichit was angry. What had Yuuri told him? Maybe Yuuri hadn’t been lying at all, maybe he really didn’t want Victor around and all this time Victor had just been kidding himself.  
  
‘I don’t think so,’ Phichit said, sighing impatiently as the lift didn’t seem to be coming fast enough for him. ‘Just leave me alone.’  
  
‘But-’  
  
Phichit gritted his teeth. ‘Fuck off, Victor!’  
  
‘Oi, watch it!’ Victor retorted, hurt and confused. Phichit rounded on Victor then and he looked up, chin tilted. Victor hadn’t realised how small Phichit was before. Or how young. But now, Phichit was looking on the smaller side of twenty staring up at Victor like that.  
  
‘Don’t make this more of a pain than it already is,’ Phichit said meanly and Victor bit an offended breath. Phichit shrugged, mouth downturned. ‘What are you thinking, coming up to me like this?’  
  
‘I had thought we might be friends,’ Victor said honestly and Phichit scoffed, folding his arms over his chest as he glared up at Victor with a focused fury that reminded Victor vividly of Yuri Plisetsky.  
  
‘We are definitely not friends,’ Phichit said loudly, groaning with impatience as he glanced at the closed lift doors. ‘I’m leaving.’  
  
Phichit turned then, walking down the hall towards the stairwell. Victor chased after him, ignoring Phichit telling him to leave him alone as they walked down the hall, feet heavy on the carpet.  
  
‘Phichit, please stop! I don’t understand.’  
  
‘You don’t understand?’ Phichit said, stopping so suddenly Victor nearly walked right into him. Victor teetered on the balls of his feet as Phichit stared up at him, grey eyes dark with frustration. ‘How do you think I feel? I was on your side!’

‘My side?’ Victor said, lost. ‘What do you mean my side?’

‘I thought you’d be different,’ Phichit said tensely, shaking his head slightly. ‘I thought you were a nice guy.’    
  
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’  
  
‘Get stuffed, Victor.’

‘Phichit, I really feel that’s uncalled for,’ Victor said honestly but Phichit bared his teeth up at him. Victor tried not to let the impatience that was brewing speak for him, but it was proving difficult. ‘Stop that and let me just-’

‘Why should I? Just because you’re Victor Nikiforov doesn’t mean I have to stand around here and listen to whatever nonsense you plan on giving me!’  
  
‘Nonsense?’ Victor repeated, dazed. Phichit’s cheeks went dark, blushing perhaps. But before Victor could say anything else, Phichit had started again. His adopted accent was high and American nasal, almost echoing off the walls he was so loud.  
  
‘Look, I wasn’t going to say anything because Yuuri told me not,’ Phichit said and Victor’s heart stopped in his chest at the mention of Yuuri’s name. ‘But you need to leave him alone. You can’t keep calling him and texting him, not after what you did. It isn’t fair.’  
  
Now Victor was very confused.  
  
‘Phichit,’ Victor said sincerely, shaking his head slowly as he tried to follow what Phichit was saying to him. ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying. Please, just give me a second-’  
  
‘God, what is wrong with you?’ Phichit exclaimed loudly, so loudly that Victor now could hear shuffling behind doors of the guestrooms they were standing in front of. ‘You just can’t let your image go. Are you that full of yourself?’  
  
‘Oi, watch it!’ Victor said, affronted, but Phichit kept going like Victor hadn’t said anything.  
  
‘Did you really think I’d give a crap about anything you have to say? After what you did to Yuuri?’ Phichit said hotly, eyes burning and Victor was stunned, not knowing what to say that. Phichit raised the hand with his phone in it, pointing it like a gun up at Victor’s chest. ‘I don’t care what bullshit excuse you have. You might be a World Champion or whatever, but to me, you’re just the asshole who hurt my friend.’  
  
‘Phichit, enough!’ Victor said, and before Phichit could retort, they were interrupted by a loud call of _arrête!_ Both looked down the hall at the sound of someone approaching to see Chris was coming down the hall, looking quite serious.  
  
(Well, as serious as he could while wrapped in a silk bathrobe and swinging his sunglasses like a baton. Which Victor had to acknowledge, was impressive).  
  
‘Alright, whatever’s happening here has to stop,’ Chris said in a firm, but hushed tone as he came up to them. He stepped between Victor and Phichit, reaching out to both. He took Victor’s shoulder and went to do the same to Phichit, but Phichit shrugged away with impressive speed. Chris continued, undeterred. ‘Look, I know you both must have a lot to say. But I can hear you from outside and I’m not having your squabble be the first bit of news from this competition. You need to cool off.’  
  
‘He started it!’ Phichit said petulantly, the ghost of Yuri Plisetsky coming to Victor again. Victor bristled, looking down at Phichit from his superior height.  
  
‘I was just trying to talk to you!’ Victor replied sharply, Chris squeezing his shoulder in warning. Victor cast him a quick look, trying to keep his voice down despite the swirling confusion in his head. ‘You were the one behaving like a child.’  
  
Now Victor would’ve had to have been blind or deaf not to notice that he wasn’t in Phichit’s good books to begin with, but that comment certainly seemed to do Victor no further favours. As such, Phichit looked stricken for a moment like he’d genuinely not anticipated Victor to call him out for his behaviour, but it was short-lived as Phichit was suddenly all bluster once again with his bottom lip stuck out in defiance.  
  
‘Better a child if a _grown up_ means behaving like you,’ Phichit replied viciously and Chris stepped between them more fully again as Victor found himself stepping forward before he could stop himself.  
  
‘Oh, for god’s sake, that’s enough! From both of you,’ Chris said with a laugh, though there was no humour in his voice. ‘If you ask me, neither of you are behaving like the athletes you’re supposed to be. Now let’s all go back to our rooms and get some sleep before training tomorrow, yes?’  
  
Phichit said nothing, frown hard as stone.  
  
‘Fine,’ Victor said after a few tense moments, reluctant but knowing a defeat when he found himself in one. Phichit raised an eyebrow at him, mouth still thin with displeasure and the sight of it had Victor’s gut churning with dread. What had Yuuri told Phichit for him to feel this way?  
  
Whatever it was, it would have to wait as Chris was right. Shouting in the halls of the hotel wouldn’t get Victor his answers any sooner. Better to wait for the morning at least and try to get through to Phichit when they weren’t all collectively dragging their jet-lagged frustration with them.  
  
‘Finally, some sense!’ Chris said, sounding relieved. He patted Victor on the back gently and started to lead him away from Phichit, back towards the elevator. ‘Not going to keep those records by losing sleep, you know.’  
  
‘Right,’ Victor replied quietly, unsure. Chris was right, Victor tried to remind himself as he let himself be led.  
  
‘Yeah, go on!’ Phichit called after them, noticeably American again in his raised voice. ‘Go back to your gold medals, they’re all you seem to care about anyway!’  
  
Victor stopped where he was. Chris _was_ right… but frankly, Phichit was acting like a prick and Victor was not going to stand for it any longer.  
  
‘Alright,’ Victor said, gritting his teeth and twisting out of Chris’ grip. He took the few steps that were between himself and Phichit, towering over the kid with resolve. Victor pushed his frayed fringe from his face, looking at Phichit with the hardness Yakov had always taught him. ‘I don’t know what you’re used to back in Detroit, but that’s no way to speak to a fellow competitor. I won’t have you call me selfish, the disrespect is insulting.’  
  
‘Why? Self-conscious?’ Phichit asked, seemingly unafraid by Victor’s shift in demeanor. But he broke eye contact fast, dark eyes looking just over Victor’s shoulder. ‘Didn’t think you were the type.’  
  
Chris came up behind Victor, muttering in French that Victor needed to drop this conversation and remove himself quickly. Victor knew why Chris was worried- a curious guest had already opened their door to look out at the commotion. But Victor was beyond caring now.  
  
‘Don’t stand there and think you know one way or the other when it’s becoming increasingly obvious that you understand nothing about me, Chulanont,’ Victor said steadily, words serrated with authority and tearing over Phichit’s face it seemed. The stiff bite from Phichit’s mouth deflated, eyes flitting up and down from Victor’s face. Victor could spot weakness in the smallest quiver.  
  
‘I know enough,’ Phichit said, trying to square his shoulders but it was no match for Victor’s broad form. ‘Yuuri told me everything.’  
  
‘I very much doubt that,’ Victor said blindly, but after he did, Victor knew it to be true. Phichit blinked, looking hurt for a moment before he seemed to rally himself again.  
  
‘Shut up,’ Phichit said, voice shaking ever so slightly. ‘Yuuri’s my best friend. I don’t care how entitled you feel, we don’t owe you anything.’  
  
Victor bared his teeth, anger a sudden flare. ‘You think I’m looking for something?’  
  
‘You have to be,’ Phichit said coldly and Victor hid the sting he felt at the words. ‘Why else would you be blowing his phone up? You’re practically stalking him! I’m not going to let you mess Yuuri around anymore. You might think yourself _so special,_ but from what I’ve seen, you’re no better than any of the others.’  
  
‘Phichit, stop,’ Chris said hardly in English, a command more than anything before as Chris stepped up. There was a creak down the hall as another door opened. Phichit didn’t even flinch from the attention, narrow shoulders shaking but his face determined. Victor could see Yuuri’s choice in friends was not unfounded, something warm blooming in appreciation at the thought of Phichit’s fierce protectiveness.  
  
‘Yuuri is lucky to have someone who fights so hard for him,’ Victor said after a careful breath, trying to keep his voice even as the thought of Yuuri suddenly threatened to overwhelm him. The confusion had displaced Victor’s deep affection for Yuuri and it was floating through Victor’s heart, untethered. If Phichit noticed Victor’s shiver, he didn’t acknowledge it.  
  
Chris however, pressed his shoulder against Victor’s. He reached out, a large hand steadying Victor by the elbow.  
  
‘Yuuri doesn’t need me to fight for him,’ Phichit said solemnly. ‘But I am in his corner. And I am telling you, stop whatever you’re doing. I won’t have you be cruel to my friend any longer.’  
  
‘How can you say I was cruel to Yuuri?’ Victor asked abruptly, nettled by the very thought. Chris’ hand squeezed- warning or comfort, Victor didn’t care. Phichit puffed his chest, obviously getting ready for a fight but Victor was in no humour for anymore of Phichit’s posturing.  
  
‘Save it!’ Phichit cried, frustration evidently boiling over and he held a hand up to stop Victor’s explanation. ‘I know all about you dumping Yuuri in Moscow, so just do one, alright!’  
  
‘Moscow?’ Victor said, winded. He shook his head, held steady by Chris’ grip on him. ‘I didn’t- that’s not what happened. Yuuri broke up with me, on the phone the other week.’  
  
Phichit’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything. He frowned, dark eyes flicking around Victor’s face. He started to shake his head, something like a smile tugging at his lips. ‘No. No, no. Don’t even try that, Yuuri told me what happened. He told me how you broke up with him when you found out about his skating.’  
  
‘I did no such thing!’ Victor said, voice rising again so Chris was shushing him. Victor pushed him away, staring Phichit down. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, or why Yuuri would say such a thing. This doesn’t make any sense.’  
  
‘Then what would you have me think happened?’ Phichit asked, voice echoing off the walls. A disgruntled guest that had come to watch the verbal sparring started muttering in what sounded like Spanish to Victor’s ear, but he wasn’t paying much attention. Chris moved away, towards the complaint. ‘Yuuri told me you found out the truth about him.’  
  
‘I did,’ Victor admitted, but he cut through whatever Phichit was going to reply with quickly. ‘But I didn’t break up with him. I was confused, maybe hurt that he had lied though I know I had no right to be. But who Yuuri is means more to me than I could possibly begin to describe. I would never hurt him for being himself.’  
  
‘But… what…’ Phichit’s voice was barely a whisper, his grey eyes round like kopeks. Then, just when Victor thought Phichit was coming apart, he pulled himself back together again. Phichit raised his hand again, phone underneath Victor’s chin as Phichit’s face hardened.

‘Alright, Nikiforov,’ he said, resolute. Victor stared back, waiting. Phichit licked his lips, holding his phone in steady threat. ‘Don’t you dare lie to me, because I will find out and trust me, you’ll regret it! Did you break up with Yuuri in Moscow?’

‘No,’ Victor answered firmly, meeting Phichit’s gaze head on. Phichit blinked up at him, his dark eyes practically spinning with the thoughts that Victor could tell were racing through his head. ‘The opposite, actually. I asked Yuuri to be with me- personally.’

‘Personally?’ Phichit repeated quietly. ‘No Eros?’  
  
‘No Eros,’ Victor said, lowering his voice also. They were quiet then, watching each other as Chris spoke in hushed tones to the guests that had ventured out to see the source of all the noise. Phichit lowered his phone, stepping away from Victor with a deep frown across his forehead.  
  
Victor flexed his hands, fingers still puckered from his time in the water. Phichit looked up at him, dark brown lip slipping beneath his teeth in a gesture that reminded Victor vividly of Yuuri. Victor could see Yuuri so clearly, despite everything. There were parts of Victor that almost belonged to Yuuri now, the fingerprints of Yuuri’s personality left over Victor like scars.  
  
‘Victor, we need to leave now,’ Chris said, rejoining them with a ruffle of his own hair. ‘These fellas are not happy and if we don’t get out of here, they’re going to call reception.’  
  
‘Okay, okay,’ Victor said, waving Chris off as he was still waiting for Phichit to say something. Still waiting for something to fall into place, so this whole thing would begin to make some sort of sense. As right now, Victor felt he was stumbling around in the dark, Yuuri lurking somewhere. Just out of reach.  
  
‘I’ve got to go,’ Phichit said at last, turning quickly and heading straight down the hall towards the stairwell at the other end of the hall. Victor went to call after him, but Chris interceded, blocking the view of Phichit’s retreating back from Victor.  
  
‘Chris, move!’ Victor said impatiently, but Chris was taller and broader. He grabbed Victor by the fluffy shoulders and started walking, forcing Victor to stumble backwards. ‘Chris! What are you doing?’  
  
‘I’m getting you out of here before you make a holy show of yourself,’ Chris muttered, his frustration obvious. ‘This is not the time or the place.’  
  
‘But-’  
  
‘Victor, please!’ Chris pleaded as they cleared the guestrooms, staggering to an awkward halt back where they had started by the elevator doors. ‘I know this is hard, but try and have some sense!’  
  
‘But Chris you don’t understand!’ Victor said, pushing his fringe from his face, mind reeling. Things were slowly coming together in Victor’s head, heart heavy with unease as the things Yuuri had said to him conflicted so greatly with what Phichit had described. Victor turned his head, staring out at the night sky through the long windows of the hallway, trying to focus. He brought his hands together at his lips, like prayer.  
  
‘Yuuri’s in trouble. I knew something was wrong, but now- Chris, don’t you see?’ Victor turned, words trying to keep up with his thoughts. ‘This proves it! Why would Yuuri tell Phichit I broke up with him and then tell me that it was him who had to end it?’  
  
‘It’s not strange for someone to put themselves in a better light to their friends, Victor,’ Chris said gently and Victor knew Chris was trying to placate him, but Victor wouldn’t have it anymore. He waved a hand between them, shutting Chris up.  
  
‘That’s not the kind of person Yuuri is!’ Victor said, leaping to Yuuri’s defence. Chris pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily.  
  
‘Victor, not to be cruel but you have no idea what kind of person this Yuuri is,’ Chris said, holding a hand up before Victor could refute that. ‘Look, there’s nothing more any of us can do tonight. I vote we both go back to our rooms and get ourselves together for practice tomorrow.’  
  
‘You go ahead,’ Victor said distractedly, adjusting his robe. He shook his head as Chris asked if he was about to go stalk down Phichit Chulanont again. ‘No, no. I think I’ll just head back to the pool and clear my head a bit. I don’t fancy being locked up in my room yet.’  
  
‘Of course. Being locked up on a rooftop pool is far less worrying,’ Chris said dramatically and Victor rolled his eyes. He patted Chris’ shoulder, already turning to head back to the rooftop veranda and pool pavilion. ‘Just promise me you won’t throw yourself off the ledge?’  
  
‘Why would I let you win the Grand Prix that easy?’ Victor teased, trying to lighten Chris’ sombre expression. He squeezed Chris’ shoulder, starting to walk backwards towards the exit. ‘Go to bed, Chris. I promise I’ll be fine and I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’  
  
When Chris finally conceded, Victor waved him off as Chris stepped into the called lift. Once alone, Victor started to make his way back to the pool. Victor didn't want to go back to his room, or anywhere where Yakov or Yuri Plisetsky might find him. Victor's mind was spinning, fragmented pieces that Victor felt should fit together just couldn’t get their edges to meet in a way that made sense. Going by what Phichit had said, how he’d reacted… Yuuri was lying to one of them, Victor knew that for certain.  
  
Victor walked past the lounge chairs and reached the pool, the night air feeling much cooler now from being inside as he kicked his sandals off and sat down on the tiled edge. His legs slipped beneath the surface of the water, rippled reflection as Victor titled his head up and stared up at the clear Spanish sky. Stars winked back, traffic noise dull now as the night grew deeper.  
  
‘Where are you, Yuuri?’ Victor asked himself, shrugging out of his bathrobe so he could swim in the cold water and drown in his own thoughts.

* * *

Victor wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but soon, he had exhausted himself by swimming laps and failing to make sense of the last month. Victor pulled himself out of the water, shoulders quaking and he gathered his abandoned robe up. Patting himself dry, Victor fished his phone out of the pocket to see he had missed a call from reception. Victor sighed, breath clouding. Yakov couldn’t give him a moment’s peace lately, but Victor was hardly going to encourage that behaviour.  
  
Victor held the robe up to scrub at his dripping hair, staring down at his feet as they left dark footprints on the terracotta patio. When he pulled the robe down and looked up, Victor froze as he spotted someone standing under the veranda by the door, watching him.  
  
Phichit Chulanont was back, wearing a university hoodie now that seemed far too large for him and carrying what appeared to be a six pack of beer in one hand. Victor gaped for moment, wondering if his exercise had possibly caused him to hallucinate, but Phichit seemed quite real as he started walking over to Victor in earnest, runners squeaking on the night-damp patio.  
  
‘I called you from reception but when you didn’t answer, I figured you might still be here. Can I hang with you for a bit?’ Phichit asked when he got close, his entire demeanour quite different from earlier. Phichit seemed smaller now, or perhaps it was the impression of the large hoodie. But Phichit was watching Victor cautiously and Victor could tell the kid wasn’t here for a fight this time. Phichit shook the hand carrying the six pack, bottles clinking. ‘I brought beer.’  
  
Victor smiled, the tightness in his chest that had never left since Yuuri ended things curled like a fist inside of him. ‘Sure. Let’s go sit down.’  
  
They both walked over to one of the lounge chairs, Victor putting his robe on as they went. Victor sat first, watching as Phichit tried to fidget one of the beer bottles out of the cardboard holder. Once free, Phichit offered the bottle to Victor with a little shimmy of his wrist.  
  
‘I don’t think I should,’ Victor said gently but Phichit raised a dark eyebrow at him.  
  
‘You're Russian right?’ Phichit said, shaking the bottle again. ‘Drink.’

Victor couldn't argue with that.

Victor took the bottle, waiting until Phichit had sat down next to him on the lounge chair. It bent beneath their combined weight, but Victor didn't move and Phichit put the beer pack down. Phichit leaned forward, elbows balanced on his knees and his own beer hanging now between them. For a while, Victor thought that this was it. Phichit didn't say a word and Victor couldn't think of anything to say either. But then Phichit sighed loudly, the corner of his mouth crooked in something like a smile.

‘Yuuri is so good at hiding things,’ Phichit said at last, staring out across the Barcelona skyline. The electric dots, the inky spread of the sky. Victor watched his face, watched Phichit blink his dark eyes as they grew bright with shine. ‘Hiding. Avoiding. Always has been.’

Victor didn’t reply, half-afraid that if he did Phichit might stop altogether. Phichit still wasn't looking at him, seemingly lost in thought. Phichit raised his beer and took a long swig of it. Victor watched the bend of his wrist, the curve of Phichit’s throat as he swallowed.

‘Secrets,’ Phichit said with a slight nod. Victor frowned, unable to stop himself but he waited for Phichit to start speaking again. ‘I think that's what Yuuri’s always been best at. Looking back, I don't know how I didn't see it sooner. Even his skating. He always tried so hard to conceal how he felt about anything. Never straying too far outside his comfort zone, because god forbid he show something he shouldn't. Something honest.’

That sounded bitter even to Victor’s ear and perhaps Phichit heard it, too, as he blushed suddenly. The dark red of his cheeks circled just beneath his eyes. It didn't creep down his neck like the way Victor knew Yuuri’s blush did. Victor wondered if Phichit knew that, too.

‘I have never told him what I planned to do after college. After this,’ Phichit said, waving a hand around them. ‘I never thought about why, until I found out all the things he wasn't telling me. Forced me think why I wasn’t showing my cards either. Then it hit me. I was afraid that if I said anything out loud about what I wanted, it would- I don't know, jinx it somehow.’

Victor waited, beer growing warm in his hands. Phichit shrugged.

‘That must be how Yuuri feels about everything,’ Phichit said, sounding so sad it moved Victor deep in his chest. ‘He's just so afraid of letting go of that control. So scared of revealing any part of himself because Yuuri always wants to be strongest. Ever since I’ve known him. Yuuri always has to be the best.’  
  
Victor felt kindred to Yuuri then in a way he hadn’t in a long while. Like somehow, Phichit was bringing parts of Yuuri back to Victor whether he intended to or not. It eased the ache that bruised in Victor’s heart, warmed the places where Yuuri had touched Victor in their short time together. Daftly, Victor wondered if Yuuri could feel it, too.

‘Honestly, I don’t know what you see in him,’ Phichit said, laughing when he saw Victor’s frown. ‘I’m only kidding, guy! I just mean- well, Yuuri’s so fucking stubborn and he snores! And you’re, well, _you,_ I guess?’ Phichit laughed again, before his mouth fell. Eyes shining again. ‘I just wonder if you really know what you’re dealing with, Nikiforov.’  
  
‘What do you mean?’ Victor asked, intrigued. Phichit shrugged his shoulders again, taking another sip of his beer as they came down in a defeated motion.  
  
‘Knowing Yuuri, being his friend, it’s kind of like…’ Phichit trailed off, breath puff white before blowing away. Victor waited, heart in his throat like it might taste whatever Phichit would say next. Phichit closed his eyes, raising his other hand and closing a fist between them. ‘It’s like holding this brilliant, frustrating bomb. Or supernova. Yuuri just has an energy inside of him. He’s got this fire that sometimes I think might burn Yuuri out before he gets the chance to hurt anyone else.’  
  
The image of Yuuri came to Victor. The dark brown of his eyes and the red amber they cut in certain lights. A flame of confidence, ambition and perhaps something altogether more dangerous always lurking just from the corner of Yuuri’s personality, too sharp for Victor to ever get a good look at. Yuuri had a career made for someone like that, if Victor were to think about it too coldly.  
  
Phichit sighed, dropping his fist and looking at Victor with his grey eyes bright with what could be tears as he continued; ‘I know that sounds like a shit thing to say. But I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.’  
  
Victor was pretty sure he did.  
  
‘Yuuri did always make me think of that phrase _still waters run deep,’_ Victor offered kindly, smiling. Phichit snorted.  
  
‘Yeah, I think we can both agree that Yuuri is some kind of natural disaster. Call for lifeboats,’ he said, laughing through another sip of beer. Victor laughed, too, but it rang hollow. That wasn’t exactly what Victor had meant, but Phichit seemed intent to convince Victor that whatever Yuuri did, it would hurt. Victor wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

‘You know, when I first met him, it took me _weeks_ to convince him to talk to me,’ Phichit said, smirking to himself and taking another sip of his beer. ‘Like damn, thank god I’m a trooper because if I was just the tiniest bit less interested, I'd probably have quit after like the millionth time he turned me down.’

‘Why didn’t you?’ Victor asked, genuinely curious and finally raising his own bottle for a sip. Phichit glanced at Victor from the corner of his eye.

‘You mean aside from his dashing good looks and perfect ass?’

Victor spluttered on his beer then, wrong-footed entirely and not at all sure how to make up for it. Then Phichit laughed at him, punching his shoulder lightly.

‘I'm joking,’ Phichit said and Victor wondered if the relief showed on his face as Phichit only laughed at him further. ‘Your face. No, nothing like that. Yuuri was the only other exchange kid at the rink. I felt we had to stick together, you know?’  
  
Victor nodded, not sure what to say as he’d never experienced anything like that. The rink in Saint Petersburg was all Victor had ever known, Yakov’s shadow under the awning and Russian scattered across the ice. Victor took another sip of his beer as Phichit fidgeted with one of the cords of his hoodie.  
  
‘So I just kept annoying him until he finally decided to talk to me,’ Phichit continued, looking back over the pool and skyline again. ‘I scheduled my practice with Ciao Ciao specifically so I’d get to see Yuuri on the way in. Then I’d just chatter at him in the most broken English in the world. Half the time I’d say Yuuri wasn’t even being antisocial, he just hadn’t a fucking clue what I was trying to say. Then one day, I caught him watching a video of one of your skates before practice.’  
  
Something burned in Victor at that. It set his face on fire with a blush, his neck pimpling with a strange cocktail of embarrassment and flattery. To think, all those years ago, Victor was already in Yuuri’s life and had never known it. What Victor wouldn’t give now for that time back, to know then what he knew now. Victor had only experienced missing a person this much a handful of times, but never had it stuck so far back. Like the stain of Yuuri’s absence was something Victor could not contain to one lifetime.

‘Turned out his massive crush on you was was my _in,’_ Phichit teased, punching Victor again. Lighter this time, less amicably. ‘So really if it wasn't for you, who knows where we’d be?’

‘I'm happy to have helped,’ Victor replied, smiling and truly meaning it. Phichit smiled back for a moment, before his face fell again. He looked worried for the first time and more terribly out of character than Victor had ever seen him. A sharp line of a frown down the middle of his forehead.

‘I know Yuuri lies. Hides things,’ Phichit said quietly, like he was telling Victor one of Yuuri’s many secrets. Phichit steeled himself then, brown hands coming tightly together over the bottle of beer. ‘But I _do_ know him. And I know that once you get through, once you get him to let you in; he's got so much love. It makes loving him back so easy, you know?’

Victor did know. He swirled his beer bottle idly, throat suddenly thick with emotion.  
  
Before Victor could say anything else, before he could think of how to even begin to reply with any of what he was thinking, Phichit nudged him with something. Victor turned, looking down at Phichit’s phone which was screen up. Displaying Yuuri’s name in white glare. Victor looked at Phichit’s face, trying to read the emotion there.  
  
‘What is that?’ Victor asked, knowing but needing Phichit to say it. Phichit’s voice was sure, eyes determined in a way that reminded Victor of Yuuri. They were well matched, the two of them.  
  
‘It’s Yuuri,’ Phichit said, regarding Victor carefully. ‘I know he blocked your number. I’m giving you a chance, Victor. But you have to tell me something first.’  
  
Victor nodded, waiting. Phichit licked his lips, looking serious.  
  
‘Do you really care about my friend?’ he asked sternly, words a little louder than their conversation. ‘Do you really want to know Yuuri, be there for him and look after him if he needs it?’  
  
‘Yes,’ Victor answered surely.  
  
‘Yuuri’s not just a lay, I hope you know that.’  
  
‘I never thought that,’ Victor admitted, unashamed of how foolish such an answer could make him seem. Phichit bounced the phone in his hand, like wagging a finger.  
  
‘I’m trusting you with the most important person in the world, you know. You do this, you do it properly, Nikiforov,’ Phichit said, raising his eyebrows in warning. 

Victor ran a finger over the rim of his beer bottle, catching the tackiness there for a moment. Victor nodded again, gently leaning down to place his beer bottle on the patio. He noticed too late how his own hands were shaking.  
  
Yuuri. After days of nothing, of confusion and lies. Of tossing in bed, Victor’s mind swimming dark like the water as the loneliness he’d felt at being rejected threatened to suffocate him. Now, after all of that, Victor would get a chance to ask Yuuri _why._

‘So, is this my official warning not to break his heart?’ Victor joked, but knowing it fell flat the moment it left his mouth. Phichit gave Victor a look of great and unabashed sympathy.

‘Yuuri’s heart isn't in any danger. He’s got that thing so buried I’m not even sure he knows what it looks like anymore,’ Phichit said sadly. Though the words were quite harsh, there was something soft in the way Phichit said Yuuri’s name that prevented Victor from leaping to his defence. Phichit waited for Victor to take the phone before speaking again. ‘It's yours I'm worried about.’

That hit Victor like a kick in the gut.

Victor swallowed awkwardly, not able to think of anything to say. Did Phichit trust Yuuri so little? Or perhaps Phichit just knew that much more. 

There was more to Yuuri than Victor could possibly ever know. Clients, friends and secrets that Yuuri had carefully concealed. Maybe Yuuri was as volatile as Phichit suggested, Victor simply one misstep away from bringing the world crashing down around them. There was something humbling in that, Victor felt. That there was someone like Yuuri out there, someone out there for Victor that held Victor’s heart like the ring of a grenade.

Or maybe that fire was a steady, warm core that pulsed the amber affection Victor had come to recognise in Yuuri’s eyes. The quiet flush of Yuuri’s mouth when embarrassed, the surprise in his eyes when Victor would make him laugh before Yuuri could catch himself. Perhaps there were things Yuuri couldn’t recognise anymore, like Phichit said. But who was to say there was danger in them?

 _  
_ With a steadying breath, Victor hit call.  
  
It rang for what felt like forever, the noise of the dial tone loud in Victor’s ear. The space it created echoing between where he and Phichit were sitting. Victor choked on his breath as the phone rang out, getting the automated voicemail Yuuri had set to take his messages. Victor let his hand drop, trying to stamp down the disappointment that crumpled inside of him.  
  
‘No answer,’ he said, looking down at the white screen of the phone.  
  
‘What do you mean no answer?’ Phichit said, sounding concerned. Victor looked up, watching as Phichit snatched the phone back and hitting call again. Phichit muttered to himself, quick and under his breath; ‘Why isn’t he answering?’  
  
‘It’s earlier in Detroit,’ Victor pointed out, not sure why he was trying to make excuses for Yuuri. ‘He could be out, or working.’  
  
‘Yuuri’s not working,’ Phichit replied firmly, hitting call once more when the phone rang out again. ‘He quit escorting.’  
  
Victor absorbed that silently, torn between asking Phichit for more information and just trying to make sense of it himself. So much of what Yuuri had said had been a lie. Maybe Chris was right and Victor really had no idea who he’d fallen in love with after all.  
  
‘We can try again tomorrow,’ Victor offered, hoping Phichit wouldn’t take this opportunity away from him just because Yuuri was busy wherever he was at this moment. Phichit looked worried as Yuuri failed once again to answer the call. Victor bit his lip, uneasy again. ‘I can meet you before breakfast, if you like?’  
  
‘I’m going to try and Skype him from my laptop,’ Phichit said, standing up abruptly. Victor stammered for a moment, standing up after Phichit as Phichit started to type away on his phone. ‘Maybe my phone isn’t working right on this Spanish network.’  
  
Victor didn’t point out that the phone ringing highly disputed that suggestion, instead offering to come with Phichit as Victor was suddenly afraid that his chance to speak to Yuuri was dwindling. Phichit glanced up at him, biting his lip.  
  
‘Tomorrow,’ Phichit said quickly, pocketing his phone and bending down for the remaining beers. ‘I’ll find you in the morning before practice.’  
  
‘Oh,’ Victor said, disappointed and worried now. Phichit looked fidgety, hopping from one foot to the other. The uneasiness flipped on its side to hard dread inside of him, chilling Victor with an icy fear. ‘If you’re sure.’  
  
‘See you tomorrow,’ Phichit dismissed, walking past Victor at speed. Victor turned on his feet, watching Phichit go as the empty feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong erupted in Victor like a bad dream.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri woke up with a pounding headache.  
  
He groaned to himself, burying into the pillow as brilliantly icy December sunlight hit his face. There was a strong smell of lavender in the room and the perfume was doing nothing for Yuuri’s headache and definitely not helping with the cotton-dry mouth he had from the night before. Yuuri sat up on the bed, casting a blurry look around his surroundings.  
  
At first, Yuuri felt a flare of panic as he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. But slowly, (and dreadfully), the memories of last night came back to him. Yuuri looked around the small bedroom of the B&B, just able to make out it’s rustic aesthetic with the thick oak window-frames and heavy patterned curtains. Outside, there was the noise and chatter of a city coming to life.  
  
Yuuri pushed a hand through his hair, sighing to himself and tasting last night’s vodka in the back of his throat. He looked down at his bare chest, cursing to himself as he squinted around the floor to see if he could spot wherever he’d thrown his shirt. Automatically, Yuuri reached out to the old-fashioned bedside locker for his phone, heart stopping when he found nothing there.  
  
Cursing again, (louder this time), Yuuri fished around his jeans, emptying the pockets of the loose foreign change he had there and his wallet. But no phone. Yuuri closed his eyes, muttering to himself as he tried to think back over the night before. Hotel, feeling sorry for himself, retreat to bar two streets down. Many, many, many drinks at said bar. And phone… on the bar counter. Yuuri saw it in his memory vividly and cursed in English this time he was so angry at himself. Phichit was going to _kill_ him.  
  
‘Ah,’ a voice said and Yuuri yelped, surprised. ‘Good morning!’  
  
A man had just walked out of what had to be an en-suite bathroom, his white skin tanned a bronze colour. The man looked to be his mid-thirties, maybe older and wearing what appeared to be pyjama bottoms. He had dark eyes and hair, watching Yuuri with what could’ve been a broad smile that somehow made Yuuri feel uneasy. Yuuri scrunched up his eyes, trying to make out the rest of this stranger’s appearance as Yuuri tried to remember what else he had done besides forget his phone at the bar.  
  
Vaguely, Yuuri remembered dancing with someone. Walking down the street. Kissing on a bed, taking off his shirt-  
  
Oh, Phichit was definitely going to kill him.  
  
‘Great,’ Yuuri sighed to himself, mortified. Drunk enough to make the mistake but not drunk enough to forget it. That was the worst possible kind of let down in such a situation.  
  
The man chuckled, walking over to the other dresser for his own phone. Yuuri turned his back to him, swinging his legs off the side of the bed and reaching down for his discarded shoes. As Yuuri quickly shoved them back on, he looked around the lumpy hardwood floor for his shirt.  
  
‘Not a morning person, then?’ the man teased and Yuuri said nothing, just making a grunt of acknowledgement. God, this was stupid. Yuuri remembered very little of whatever the stranger was looking so happy about, but going by Yuuri’s own belt still being firmly tied around his jeans and the cleanliness inside them, it hadn’t gone further than a really bad makeout and some shirt fumbling.  
  
Not that that made any of it less embarrassing. Mostly what Yuuri remembered was feeling extremely miserable, trapped and alone. And it looked like he had dealt with it the only way he could think of doing so- evidently falling asleep before going through with it. Well, at least Yuuri could be thankful for that.  
  
‘Where’s my shirt?’ Yuuri asked, distracted as the man typed something onto his phone. What kind of person had keyboard sounds on? That tapping was so annoying. Yuuri stood up, teetering for a moment as his vision went white.  
  
‘Hey, hey,’ the man said, his voice gravelly with accent. He hopped across the bed, warm hands taking Yuuri’s bare waist. Yuuri flinched and stepped away, blinking quickly to clear his head. The man held his hands palm up in surrender.

‘Shirt,’ Yuuri said, folding his arms over his chest. ‘And my glasses. Do you know where they are?’  
  
‘Your shirt is over there,’ the man said, still smiling and Yuuri twitched a quick one back before following where the man was pointing towards a red chaise by the uneven door of the bedroom. Yuuri grabbed his shirt from where it was crumpled down on the cushions, quickly pulling it over his head and wincing at the smell of cigarette smoke on it. He turned back to the man on the bed.  
  
‘Glasses?’  
  
‘Bathroom,’ the man said, now gesturing with a tanned arm towards the en-suite at the other end of the room. Yuuri frowned, wondering how on earth he’d managed that as he had no memory of that en-suite at all.  
  
‘Thanks,’ Yuuri replied, knowing he was being rude but frankly, Yuuri really didn’t care. Yuuri just wanted to get back to that bar, (wherever it was), pick up his phone and get back to where he was supposed to be as soon as possible.  
  
Yuuri walked into the small bathroom, glancing around for his glasses. He checked the sink, on top the cistern next to what appeared to be a small pot of lavender. Almost giving up, Yuuri chanced his arm and opened the mirrored cupboard over the sink. His glasses winked back at him from the empty shelves, perfectly folded. Yuuri reached out and took them, putting them on and frowning. Weird.  
  
When Yuuri went back out to the bedroom, the man was dressed neatly in pressed black trousers and a red shirt that really didn’t suit him. Or maybe Yuuri was biased by his own embarrassment. Regardless, the man turned to Yuuri and smiled again.  
  
‘Good night?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow. Yuuri flushed, stomach twisting uneasily.  
  
‘Sure,’ he said with a tight smile. Yuuri pulled at the ends of his shirt, pulling the long sleeves of the jersey over his knuckles. It had been… well, years since Yuuri had done this. Pulled some stranger in a bar, like a normal person. Without the exchange of a cheque and kiss, Yuuri wasn’t sure he remembered the etiquette for saying goodbye to someone he really regretted meeting in the first place.  
  
(Not that it was the guy’s fault, Yuuri supposed. But to be frank, Yuuri only had to take one look at the guy to know that in his drunken state, Yuuri had gone out his way to find someone who resembled Victor the absolute least).  
  
‘Thanks for letting me stay,’ Yuuri offered, wondering if the awkwardness he felt would just melt so he could leave in peace. The man gave him that strangely intense grin again, before he walked over to sit down in the chaise Yuuri’s shirt had been strewn across.  
  
‘Anytime for someone so pretty,’ the man said, his accent rubbing Yuuri the wrong way though Yuuri knew that was probably wrong of him. Yuuri shrugged his shoulders, for the first time in a long while unsure how to take the compliment. The man pointed a finger at Yuuri across the room. ‘I really like you.’  
  
‘What?’ Yuuri said, unable to stop himself. The man laughed.  
  
‘I said I like you,’ he repeated, like that was supposed to clear anything up for Yuuri. It wasn’t that Yuuri had never heard such a thing before. A lot of clients would confess such a thing after a first date, but that was work. A business conversation and transaction. It was courtesy. Coming from a stranger like this, someone who’s name Yuuri just couldn’t remember, (suggesting Drunk Yuuri hadn’t bothered to ask), just felt wrong in a way Yuuri couldn’t quite put his finger on.  
  
‘Um, thank you,’ Yuuri said, not even trying to temper his voice to Eros’ pleasing demure tone. Yuuri really didn’t want this guy to get the wrong impression, anymore than he already had. ‘I have to go, someone’s waiting for me.’

  
‘Stay for breakfast,’ the man said, still smiling but Yuuri frowned. Something about the man’s tone felt… wrong. ‘They can bring it up.’  
  
‘No, thank you. Like I said, someone’s waiting for me,’ Yuuri said again, starting to walk towards the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri sized the man up again. He was taller than Yuuri, but only just. But he was also broader. Yuuri tried not to let that get under his skin.  
  
‘Boyfriend?’ the man suggested, winking. Yuuri laughed briefly.  
  
‘No, but I really do need to go,’ Yuuri said, walking past where the man was sitting and up to the door. He took the tarnished round handle and turned it, tugging the door.

But the door didn’t open, only rattling in it’s frame. Yuuri’s heart picked up, stomach dropping. He turned over his shoulder, trying to keep his voice light.

‘Uh, the door’s locked.’  
  
It was an old door, the B&B seeming like a repurposed house. There was no electronic keycard or emergency knob to unlock it. For good measure, Yuuri tried again. He pulled harder, the loose handle of the door ricketing in its socket as the door shuddered. But it did not open. Yuuri stepped back, trying to keep his frustration from his face as the man smiled blithely up at him.  
  
‘Do you have the key?’ Yuuri asked nicely, trying not to let his voice shake. The man stood up then, seeming taller than Yuuri had first anticipated. Yuuri stepped backwards, hands coming down on a dresser behind him. It shifted from the movement, another pot of what could be lavender teetering in porcelain _thumps_ behind him. Yuuri stared up the man as the man raised a hand, taking Yuuri’s chin.  
  
‘How about some coffee?’ the man suggested, tilting his head in the direction of a small coffee table by the chaise. ‘There’s so much we need to catch up on, after last night.’  
  
Yuuri swallowed hard, carefully reaching behind him. Just as his fingers grazed the edges of the pot, the man moved. He took Yuuri’s wrist in his own hand, squeezing tight so it hurt. Yuuri yelped, the man pulling him in one hard movement across the room. Yuuri kicked out, foot catching the coffee table as the man pulled him away from the locked door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Chessala, 0anhonestpuck and Reiya, who were kind enough to listen to my incredibly incessant bitching and whining over the last month and a half. Meeting you through this fandom has been so wonderful and honestly, I am so happy you both reached out to me and made me so lucky.
> 
> And as always, my dearest lucycamui, without whom this year would not have been so meaningful.


	17. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yuuri lets go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warnings:** Threat of violence. Drug use by OC. Anxiety symptoms and disassociation.

Victor wasn’t sure what he had been dreaming about, but when he first opened his eyes, he still seemed to be in the thrall of it. Dark corners and distant voices, someone’s hand in his own- and the thumping cloister of something like thunder. Victor thrashed in his bed for a moment, confused and shivering, wakefulness coming slowly to him. After a few moments, Victor realised that the banging of his dreams was someone furiously knocking on his hotel room door.

It was light outside, Victor not having drawn the curtains over the impressive windows that ran the length of his hotel room. Yakov must’ve let him sleep in. Victor cast one forlorn look to the empty twin bed at the other end of the room, running a hand through his hair. Victor took some deep breaths to try and wake himself up. He seemed to have managed to sweat through his shirt in his nightmare, the soft cotton sticking to his back. Victor kicked the covers off as whoever was knocking on his door grew, (if possible), more impatient.

If this turned out to be Mila, drunkenly asking for money for a cab again, Victor would consider breaking his long-term pact to himself to never rat out another skater to Yakov for their behaviour. Three times over one season was quite enough, to be fair.

‘Alright, alright,’ Victor called as he made it to the door, unlocking it quickly. When he swung it open, it took Victor a second to comprehend what he was seeing. ‘Um. What are you doing here?’

‘Get dressed,’ Phichit said, who was dressed himself in what looked to be his training kit underneath a big red parka. ‘You said you wanted to help, now’s your chance.’

‘Help?’ Victor repeated, half considering that he may still be dreaming. He pinched his eyes, rubbing the sleep from them. ‘Help with what?’

Phichit pushed past Victor into the room, fishing his phone out of his coat pocket. He turned back to Victor, holding it up to show Google Maps was open. ‘Yuuri. He needs us, right now. Will you come?’

Victor suddenly felt far more awake. He closed the door, heading straight over to his open suitcase in the wardrobe. ‘Yes.’

 

* * *

 

Yuuri swore as his ankle hit the corner of the coffee table, but the momentum of being set off balance did have his weight working in favour of the stranger losing his grip. Yuuri twisted quickly, hips turning in muscle memory, and shoved hard with his left shoulder as he brought his knee up as well.  
  
Yuuri’s fear felt like a pistol action, a burst of force. The shoulder hit the man in the chest, the knee between his legs and a muffled _oof!_ came out of his mouth as his lanky body folded. He staggered forward suddenly, like his legs had given out from under him and Yuuri cried out as he ended up taking the full weight of the guy as he fell.

Their legs tangled together, Yuuri too surprised to say anything as his body tipped backwards at an angle. Pain first, realisation after. The man crumpled to the floor, groaning as Yuuri raised a hand to where the side of his head had collided with the ancient doorframe. He hissed- it stung to touch. Yuuri stepped away from the rolling body of the man, backwards from the door.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Yuuri snapped, furious.

The panic from being grabbed, from being scared, had galvanised now into something sharper and Yuuri was feeling inclined on running the guy through with it. It burned hot in his blood, but Yuuri kept himself steady; he needed to be smart. The guy sat between Yuuri and the door, would probably stop him if Yuuri tried to call out for help. Yuuri winced, eyes stinging. The throb in Yuuri’s head seemed secondary to the single-minded focus to just _get out,_ but it was hard to ignore entirely _._

The only answer the man had to offer was another moaning noise. Yuuri took a deep breath, trying to get his thoughts together, but panic was roiling like water in his gut. As the man started to pull himself up, Yuuri immediately went on the defensive. He would not let his guard down twice. Yuuri snatched the remote control for the small television in the corner off the coffee table, wielding it like a weapon.

It was small, but Yuuri was strong. And he was fast, if he only got one hit, Yuuri was certain he could make it count.

The man used the wall for leverage, struggling to get upright and Yuuri frowned, suspicious. Yuuri had blocked most of the guy’s fall against the wall, surely he wasn’t concussed? But it had happened quite fast. The man held his head in his hands before looking up at Yuuri, eyes blinking rapidly. His eyes were dark, almost black. Even a little bloodshot.

Yuuri gave the man another once over as the guy leant fully back against the wall, holding his hands up in surrender. When he spoke, his words were; ‘Hey, hey! Don't hurt me!'

The man's voice was high, uneven and Yuuri clutched the remote tighter, plastic crackling at the joints from his grip. The man was sluggish, leaning too far forward and suddenly like he were about to fall before managing to right himself back up against the wall.

'Don't hurt you?' Yuuri repeated, confused. His wrist ached and Yuuri raised the remote as he felt it, taking a step forward. 'You're the one who grabbed me! Locked me in here! What's wrong with you?'

The man shrugged, muttering in what must've been Spanish as he suddenly sank down to the floor, seemingly unable to hold up his own weight any further. Yuuri flinched, stepping back at the movement, but it became apparent quickly the man was not trying to be an immediate threat. But Yuuri didn't dare relax, holding the remote at a strong angle should he need to swing it. When the man kept muttering, Yuuri's patience snapped like a rubber band.

'Why did you lock the door? Where's the key?' Yuuri asked quickly, trying to control the way his voice was shaking. He couldn't stop looking at the guy, studying him. The stranger didn't look familiar, not particularly moneyed. Was this a trap? Could what was waiting in Detroit have followed Yuuri here? Yuuri didn't think so, but he couldn't be sure. Nothing seemed certain anymore and the anxiety was taking each scrambling, random thought and giving it teeth.

'Bathroom,' the man said, rubbing his face with his hands like he were scrubbing something off. Yuuri gave a quick glance across the small room, spying the door to the en-suite left open. The man pointed a tanned finger, making Yuuri jump from the sudden movement. Heart in a vice of barely contained panic. 'You're crazy. You're fucking crazy.'

'Me?' Yuuri retorted loudly, just about stopping himself from screaming.

'I was just joking with you. It's a _game,'_ the man said like Yuuri were stupid, before ranting away in Spanish. Yuuri frowned behind his glasses, gauging the distance between himself and the en-suite. He could run for it, get the keys. If the man wasn't lying of course. Yuuri looked at him again, his sagging body.

'What kind of game?'

'What do you mean? Christ, why do I always end up with the crazies?' the man retorted meanly, words stumbling together as he suddenly spoke very quickly. He waved his pointed hand at Yuuri again, glaring at Yuuri like it was Yuuri's fault they were where they were. 'Just for fun. We never finished last night and I thought if I could get you to stay- look, it was only a bit of a laugh! I was teasing you.'

'Teasing me? Are you _insane?'_ Yuuri asked baldly, completely alarmed and still not at all sure what he had gotten himself into. The man sighed, tipping his head back and Yuuri spotted something under the guy's nose. Yuuri's stomach rolled, revolted. 'Are you high?'

The man answered in Spanish, but everything suddenly clicked into place for Yuuri. He swore again, heart catching up to the panic he'd tried to bury. It rabbitted in his chest, erratic and skipping. Too fast for Yuuri to catch his breath. Yuuri had to get out, fast. He made an aborted swing with the remote, the best attempt of a threat he could manage. Yuuri's felt a bleak stab of satisfaction when the man winced, despite not being hit.

'You hid my glasses this morning, didn't you?'

'Not hide them, Jesus,' the man said, turning his face away with a scrunch of the nose. 'You were drunk, I put them away before you broke them.'

Yuuri flushed, mortified and desperate to get out. 'I'm getting the keys and I'm leaving. Got it?'

'God, whatever,' the man replied, dragging himself over the couch on the other side of the coffee table. Yuuri watched him carefully, refusing to relax for even a moment. Yuuri could feel his heartbeat through the bump of his head. It was distracting. 'Just get out, you freak.'

The man crawled up onto the couch, groaning away to himself again. Must've hurt something, then. _Good,_ Yuuri thought bitterly as he carefully started to make his way to the en-suite. Yuuri kept waiting for the charade to drop, for the man to suddenly leap from the couch. But it never came. In fact, the guy turned into the couch like he might sleep. Yuuri didn't let go of the remote, making the short distance to the bathroom quickly.

The key for the door was like one from a storybook, old and rusted with a wooden keychain and etched with the room number. It sat on top of the cistern of the toilet and Yuuri snatched it up, walking back into the room with the remote aloft. Just in case.

But the man hadn't moved, now with his back turned entirely to Yuuri. Yuuri walked all the way up to the door, turning his body to keep the man in his sight as he struggled to fidget the door open.

'Hey,' the man said from the couch and Yuuri jumped, remote flying up ready to strike. The man was regarding Yuuri with a frown, head turned over the awkward crumple of his body on the couch. Yuuri's chest was heaving, something cold settling in his stomach. 'I'm sorry. I didn't- I wasn't trying to scare you. Not really.’

Yuuri said nothing for what felt like too long, frozen by shock and the panic that his escape was about to come to an abrupt end. When Yuuri still said nothing, the man turned away again. Yuuri tugged at the door, barely hearing the clatter of the ancient hinges. Yuuri bolted out into the hall, tugging the door closed behind him with a slam that rattled. Yuuri turned on his heel, runners shuffling on the worn carpet of the hallway as he made a bee-line for the stairs.

It wasn't until Yuuri walked out the front door of the B&B, into the yellow streets of Barcelona that were burnt like sand in the early morning light, that Yuuri realised he still had the remote control clutched tightly in his hand. Yuuri dropped it with a start, the crushing wave of anxiety he'd managed to control when it was happening now collapsing down upon him after the fact. The remote hit the pavement with a hollow crack, Yuuri stumbling as he tried to catch his breath.

That was... _that was too close._

It could've gone so wrong. It could've been anything, anyone, in that room with Yuuri. That man was just an asshole, but what if he had been more than that? What if and _what if_ \- Yuuri wrapped an arm around his abdomen as he suddenly retched. His stomach squeezed unpleasantly, panic a bile that burned all the way up his throat. He was shaking, body trembling from the winter chill and everything else. The few people out wandering the street crossed it, giving Yuuri a wide berth with alarm. They probably thought he was drunk. Yuuri felt drunk.

Not the pleasant the kind either. The kind that had him feeling too heavy, like his body was some great weight Yuuri could not manage to lift. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand, breath coming out of him in rasping gulps. He startled when a woman touched his back, hands immediately rising to defend himself. But the woman was elderly, gesturing back into the B&B.

'You're not well, dear,' she said in perfect English, her brown eyes wide with concern. 'Come inside, I'll get you a cup of tea. Call a friend, maybe?'

'No,' Yuuri said weakly, before clearing his throat and finding his voice. 'No, thank you. I'm fine, really. I need to go, my friends are waiting for me.'

'Are you sure?' the woman asked, frail hands taking Yuuri's. Yuuri looked down at them, the way her skin crinkled like paper as her long fingers wrapped around his. 'Poor thing, you look very sick.'

'I'm good, thank you,' Yuuri said, stepping away and pulling himself out of the woman's grip. 'Thank you, but I have to go.'

Yuuri turned and started walking down the street, not entirely sure where he was going. He pushed a hand through his hair, no doubt making it more of a mess than it already was. But Yuuri found he couldn't care about that, couldn't seem to focus on anything but the heavy fear that sat low in his stomach, nauseous and holllow. He followed the street all the way to the next crossing, pausing at the sidewalk to finally try and find his bearings.

A bright, red sign caught his eye from down the next street. _Bodega de Cafe._ Yuuri looked at it, broken memories coming back to him from the night before. The bar. The bar he'd left his phone in. Yuuri looked back over his shoulder, up towards where the entrance of the B&B was. It had seemed like a much longer walk when drunk. But then, most walks do.

Decision made, Yuuri started down towards the bar, hoping it would still be open or that at least there would be someone there who could help him get his phone back. Phichit was bound to be worried, having expected Yuuri to return to the hotel last night. Guilt added itself to the growing weight of unease inside of Yuuri, something hot that threatened tears stinging in the corner of his eyes. Yuuri blinked them away- now was not the time to lose it. Yuuri had to get his phone, get back to the hotel and find Phichit. Let Phichit know he was alright. Once all that was done, then Yuuri could let himself feel it.

Until then, Yuuri just had to hold together a little bit longer.

As he approached, Yuuri realised the bar was now open like a café, tall red shutters pushed out to let the morning light stream in. On any other day, Yuuri might've been able to appreciate how lovely it looked, but right now, all Yuuri wanted was his phone and to get back to the safety of his own hotel room. When Yuuri walked into the café, it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the shade after the brilliant December sunlight outside. He looked around, trying to spot a barman or barista behind the counter.

But before he could, Yuuri stopped dead in his tracks, the knife’s edge of something dangerous cutting his fear open as blue eyes met his from across the room.

Victor was standing by the bar, hair trussed and unstyled from where his eyes met Yuuri's underneath the fringe of it. He looked funereal, dressed in black trousers with a black peacoat over. White skin practically glowing from the stark contrast. Yuuri swayed for a moment on his feet, too stunned to think of anything to do. Automatically, Yuuri curled inward, wishing himself smaller as suddenly, Yuuri's heart felt so large it was drowning the whole room with the loud, rushing beat of it.

Like it had been holding its breath this entire time, like Yuuri had been on pause until he saw Victor again, and now that they were here- together- Yuuri felt like time was rushing around them in an effort to catch up. Yuuri opened his mouth, silent and desperate as the buoyant tremor of joy at seeing Victor warred against the weight of reality that was stubbornly digging its heels in at the back of Yuuri’s mind. Victor couldn’t see him, it could ruin everything. But...

'Yuuri,' was all Victor said at last, his voice quiet over the soft clink and clatter of cups and spoons. But Victor’s warm voice was everything Yuuri had been aching for. It was the breaking of some great, terrible dam in Yuuri's heart as everything he'd tried to bury burst out of him. Yuuri clutched his hands to his own chest, wondering if Victor could hear the way Yuuri's heart thundered there like a drum. Giving Yuuri away.

'How did you know?' Yuuri asked, equally quiet but too afraid to move. Too afraid of Victor, what he might say or do, to dare get any closer. Just seeing Victor was surreal enough. 'How did you know I was here?'

Victor opened his mouth to answer, but he never got the chance as suddenly Yuuri's vision was filled with a puffy, red creature of stammering Thai.

Phichit had launched himself at Yuuri from apparently nowhere, tackling his friend so brutally they nearly both fell to the ground with it. Yuuri struggled to keep upright as Phichit wrapped his arms around Yuuri's neck, tugging uncomfortably and insulting Yuuri in rapid Thai, steadily moving into halted Japanese. But _baka_ had never sounded as comforting as it did in that moment, Yuuri letting himself lean into the familiar weight of Phichit. The familiarity of his arms and the scent of the shampoo Phichit had brought from home.

'I'm going to kill you!' Phichit said as he pulled back, punching Yuuri hard on the arm. Yuuri winced, rubbing at the place over his sweater. He met Victor’s eye again, words sticking in the back of his throat. Phichit turned, following Yuuri’s gaze. Phichit shrugged, scratching the back of his neck; ‘Ah. Right. I didn’t know who else to call, I didn’t want Ciao-Ciao to worry if he didn’t have to and I know I shouldn’t have but-’  
  
‘No,’ Victor said steadily and Phichit’s stuttering excuse stopped. Phichit stepped away as Victor approached, Yuuri wondering if the dizziness that was starting to blossom white in the corners of his eyes was leftover panic or just the overwhelming feeling of Victor in front of him. There was barely two feet between them now and Yuuri had never known what it was to miss someone until this moment. ‘I’m glad Phichit came to me. I wanted to help.’  
  
‘Why?’ Yuuri asked, before he winced. God, that was a shitty thing to say but Yuuri couldn’t help himself. Yuuri was no idiot; he knew how badly he must’ve hurt Victor. When Yuuri forced himself to look up, he was surprised to see that Victor didn’t look angry. Instead, Victor just looked a little sad. And somehow, that was even worse.

‘Because I care about you, Yuuri,’ Victor said softly, taking his hands out of his pockets. They hung awkwardly at his sides, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Yuuri squeezed his own hands together until it hurt, that terrifying affection he felt for Victor moving inside him like an earthquake. Changing the shape of his very dimensions, it felt.  
  
‘You do,’ Yuuri whispered, not questioning because somewhere in the last few months, Yuuri had grown to know that. Yuuri watched Victor’s face, hurting deep. He could see no lie there, no shade of misdirection. Like his skating, Victor gave everything away and Yuuri wanted to sink into an honesty like that. Wanted to wrap his arms around Victor’s waist and tell him how sorry he was, how much he missed Victor. How much Yuuri had wished they could see each other.

With everything else, it could almost be easy to forget why Yuuri had left in the first place. But Yuuri couldn’t put it from his mind; the nervous shame and guilt of everything that had happened, of Yakov’s threat hovering over his head came tumbling after in a race of thoughts. It suddenly brought Yuuri crashing back to earth, stomach turning as he looked to Phichit, who was looking between Victor and Yuuri with a nervous lip tucked under his teeth.  
  
Phichit, who was safe because of what Yuuri had done. Phichit, who was now unwittingly putting himself back in the firing line by bringing Victor back to Yuuri again.  
  
‘We should go,’ Yuuri said to Phichit, trying not to focus on Victor moving in his peripheral vision. The churning sickness in his gut roiled with anxiety as Yuuri became aware of just how dangerous it was to be here with Victor like this. ‘You both have training, you shouldn’t even be here. How did you know about this place?’  
  
‘I tracked your phone when I couldn’t get through to you,’ Phichit said, taking a moment to gather himself it seemed. Yuuri watched as Phichit huffed loudly, seemingly remembering his frustration from before. Victor stayed steady, his presence a warm shadow. ‘And you know I'd only do that in an emergency and jeez, Yuuri! Where the fuck were you? I thought you were dead! Or worse!'

'Worse?' Yuuri repeated dumbly, knowing it was the wrong thing to focus on immediately as Phichit's wide eyes promptly narrowed and Yuuri knew that look. He got another punch and Yuuri yelped. Victor moved, but Yuuri glanced at him and Victor paused instead, understanding.

'Yeah, worse!' Phichit said, like that explained anything. Phichit put his hands on his hips, looking up at Yuuri from beneath his mop of dark hair with a warring expression of relief and anger. 'Where were you? Your phone's here, but you weren't and oh my god, Yuuri, I didn't know what to think! I was freaking out!'

Yuuri stood there and let Phichit rattle off the itinerary of his morning, listening with steadily increasing guilt as Phichit explained how panicked he'd been and how scared. Yuuri wanted the floor to swallow him, to sink down to somewhere dark and warm where he could be alone and organise his thoughts. But as it was, the café had fallen silent with interest as Phichit continued in his tirade, occasionally taking a moment to puck Yuuri again. Yuuri was sure one was bound to bruise. The clock in Yuuri’s head ticked down steadily- they didn’t have time for this.

Yuuri tried to forget Victor was there, tried to focus on Phichit. But it was impossible to ignore the pulsing worry that they could be caught any moment and despite the fact that Yuuri knew he should be listening to Phichit, that he should be apologising or grovelling, all Yuuri could do was sneak a glance after glance over Phichit's shoulder to Victor, wondering if it would even be possible to say goodbye again.

Victor looked taller than Yuuri remembered, though that was impossible, Yuuri knew. It was just the shock of seeing him, the rawness of it. Or maybe it was just the realisation of just how short Phichit was, with Victor standing so tall behind him. But Yuuri kept looking up, flinching away whenever Victor could catch his eye. They needed to leave, needed to get away from Victor soon before anyone saw them together. Yuuri wrapped his arms around himself tightly unsure and feeling like his head were about to explode any moment now as the dull throb of it had turned angry at some point.  
  
What was Victor thinking? Yuuri wanted to look and stare until it became clear, crack every part of the man he’d come to know so well. Was Victor upset? Was he mad? Yuuri wanted to know, with a fervour that threatened on need, knowing with a sharp sadness that he may never know either way. Yuuri felt Victor would have every right to be those things, but as it was, Victor was just watching Yuuri and Phichit with a carefully blank look on his face. Yuuri’s head felt heavy as the headache he couldn’t seem to shake pulsed unpleasantly.

'Your head,' Victor said to Yuuri suddenly, interrupting Phichit's ranting. Phichit immediately fell silent, eyebrows knitting together in confusion as Yuuri jumped, wondering how Victor had known. Victor stepped up, closing the distance and hand reaching out before he obviously thought better of it. Yuuri watched where it hovered, eyes flicking back to Victor's face. 'Yuuri, what happened to you?'

'What?' Yuuri reached out to his own head, before remembering he'd hit it against the doorframe in the B&B and groaning with embarrassment. He rubbed the side of his head, wincing as it still hurt to touch. When he pulled his hand back, there was dry red crust on his fingertips. 'Oh. I'm bleeding?'

'Shit!' Phichit cried, gently reaching up to push Yuuri's hair aside. 'Some friend I am, I didn't even notice. What the fuck happened?'

'I- ah,' Yuuri started, before stopping as shame wrapped a tight hand around his throat. How did Yuuri even explain? Now? In front of Victor, of all people. God. Yuuri looked down to the floor, trying to smile but it just wouldn't come. He settled for a shrug instead. 'Nothing, it was an accident.'

'What kind of accident? We need to get you to a doctor, what if you have a concussion?'

'I don't have a concussion,' Yuuri said to Phichit wearily, ignoring the way Phichit gritted his teeth in frustration. He waved a hand, like he might wave away Phichit's concern entirely. Yuuri couldn't bring himself to look at Victor, a knot of guilt turning itself over with that selfish desire to just stare and stare. Drink Victor in for as long as Yuuri could before they inevitably had to part again. And part again _soon._  'I’ll tell you when we get back to the hotel.’

Hotel. Now. Yuuri could hear the words beating in his head, over and over. It was early still, they could make it back before anyone would see. But what if Yakov was in the lobby? What if he was out in the street and saw them? The room seemed to be getting darker, the air thinner. If Yuuri could just get a moment to himself-

‘Why can’t you tell me now?’

‘Let’s just go, yeah?’ Yuuri asked, pleading but one look at Phichit’s stricken expression made him realise how loudly he’d said so. Yuuri didn’t dare look at Victor, flushing at the eyes he could feel boring into him. His chest was so tight. ‘I just bumped it off a door.’  
  
‘A door?’ Phichit repeated, obviously skeptical holding a hand out again.

Yuuri batted Phichit’s hands away, feeling a pang of regret as Victor stepped away as well. Yuuri wished they could be closer, selfish as it was. Stupidly, madly- all Yuuri wanted a hug. Someone to hold him and just take care of it all for him. But there wasn’t anyone else to clean up this mess. Yuuri’s stomach turned, nervousness a fist in his gut. They needed to move.

‘Last night? Were you drinking?’  
  
‘No. Well, yes, I was drinking,’ Yuuri stammered, feeling his face heat with embarrassment. He turned away from both of them, staring at the generic panoramic photos on the café wall. Was it too late to just run for it entirely? A quick glance at Phichit’s worried face convinced Yuuri it was. ‘There was…’ Yuuri looked at Victor, instantly regretting it. But what else was there to say? He and Victor were over, Yuuri reminded himself. ‘Some guy. I went back to his B&B and I hit my head on the way out this morning.’  
  
‘What guy?’ Phichit squeaked, shocked. Yuuri put a hand over his face in a weak attempt to hide.  
  
‘Just some guy.’  
  
‘Did he hurt you?’ Victor asked Yuuri sternly, his voice commanding all of a sudden.

Yuuri’s head snapped up, throat thick with emotion as he took in Victor’s hard expression. Victor didn’t look outright angry, exactly. But he certainly wasn’t happy. Narrowly, Yuuri felt a small give of relief to see something other than that empty expression Victor had before, but he squashed it quickly. Yuuri stood up taller, still not quite a match for Victor’s height. Yuuri’s hands were shaking.  
  
‘It wasn’t like that. Not really.’  
  
_‘Not really?_ Then what was it like?’ Victor asked further, English still hard in his mouth. Yuuri looked to Phichit, but Phichit offered no assistance. He was looking at Yuuri with concern and Yuuri sighed guiltily, shifting on his feet.  
  
‘There was- I don’t know, a disagreement?’ Yuuri suggested, not entirely sure how to explain exactly what had happened that morning. Given what was happening now, it felt like so much longer ago than an hour or so.  
  
Victor frowned, blue eyes sharp with suspicion and Yuuri felt his resolve melt even further, worn down like a bluff. He struggled, words tripping themselves as Yuuri wondered if there was a way to tell the story without it sounding as horrible as it had felt at the time. Yuuri settled for half-truths, promising to himself he’d tell Phichit the full story later. When they were alone.

Yuuri couldn’t let Victor get involved, it was already too dangerous.    
  
‘He'd locked the door, at first. When I tried to get it open, I slipped and hit my head against it.’  
  
‘Jesus, Yuuri,’ Phichit said hollowly, reaching out to hold Yuuri’s shoulder. ‘Are you alright? Are you sure he didn’t hurt you anywhere else? How did you get away?’  
  
Yuuri squirmed at the phrase _get away._ He hadn't been in danger, not _real_ danger anyway. Nothing Yuuri couldn’t have gotten himself out of. Now that the situation had passed, Yuuri could see that. It made him uncomfortable for Phichit, (or Victor), to think he was in need of saving from something. Yuuri shrugged his shoulders again, trying to appear collected; ‘I just unlocked the door and left, he didn’t stop me. He was just a creep, not a criminal.’  
  
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Victor said darkly and Yuuri blinked, surprised by the severity of his tone. Yuuri regarded Victor carefully, unable to think of anything to say. Victor wasn’t looking at Yuuri anymore, instead staring out the door behind Yuuri like he was afraid the guy from the night before might walk in. ‘Did he scare you, Yuuri?’  
  
Yuuri was not prepared for this question. His voice stuck, not able to conjure up more than a small _um,_ because the truth was, _yes._ The man had scared Yuuri, incredibly. But Yuuri didn’t want to admit that. Not now, not to Victor who looked like he was working very hard to contain something. Yuuri wondered if Victor was angry at him for going out with someone else. The thought weighed like lead, dragging Yuuri’s thoughts down with it. Yuuri felt… tainted, somehow. He wanted to shower. He wanted to be alone.  
  
‘What B &B was this?’ Phichit interrupted, not giving Yuuri a chance to reply to Victor’s question which Yuuri was grateful for. Yuuri turned his attention to Phichit, trying not to shrink into himself entirely. ‘Do you remember?’  
  
‘Not the name, but it’s just up the road,’ Yuuri answered, waving a hand behind him in a vague gesture. ‘Some old place. The receptionist was nice.’  
  
The details were unrelated, but saying them aloud helped Yuuri feel a little clearer. He couldn’t wait for them to leave, to get back to the hotel. At the thought of the hotel, Yuuri thought of Yakov and the bile stung his throat again suddenly. Yuuri just wanted a chance to be alone and figure out what he was going to do. Victor knew he was in Barcelona now, Phichit revealing his lie, though Yuuri didn’t blame Phichit for that. Yuuri would need to deal with that, he knew. Yuuri understood Victor too well. Victor would have questions. Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, breathing growing shallow again. What was he going to say?  
  
Yuuri was brought abruptly back to the present by Victor walking right past him, out into the street as Phichit called after him. Yuuri followed dumbly, confused. ‘What are you doing?’  
  
‘I’m going to that B&B and I’m going to find that man. And I’m going to teach him some manners,’ Victor said, English gritted between his teeth so it came out all torn. Yuuri paused, truly stumped for anything to say as that one sentence seemed to rock through him like a blow.

When he finally got back to himself, Yuuri’s mind ran straight ahead with a crack like a whip. Yakov would be looking for Victor. Phichit was here and what had Victor already told him? Yuuri would have to fix that, too. And no- If there was a fight, Victor could get hurt. Yuuri choked in the back of his throat, unable to focus on the numerous disasters that were opening themselves to him.

Trying to seem aloof, Yuuri scoffed with a slight tremour, looking to Phichit for help. But Phichit had a dark, set look to his face that made Yuuri’s stomach drop. Yuuri looked back to Victor, desperate and trying not to show it.  
  
‘Victor, no. You’re not doing that.’  
  
‘I am,’ Victor said stubbornly, looking at Yuuri with bright eyes. To have all that beautiful focus thrust upon him so suddenly rendered Yuuri mute for a moment, but that skittering feeling of either nervousness or fear crawled up Yuuri’s back in retaliation. He poured it into every word.  
  
‘That’s crazy, no. No, I’m not letting you do this,’ Yuuri said, trying not to stutter as, mortifyingly, his eyes burned with tears all of a sudden.  
  
‘I don’t remember asking,’ Victor replied bluntly and Yuuri gaped, hurt by the disregard though Yuuri knew he had no right. Yuuri looked to Phichit.  
  
‘Phichit, you don’t agree with this, do you?’  
  
‘I don’t know, Yuuri,’ Phichit said, sounding genuinely torn but looking angry more than anything. ‘This guy sounds dangerous. We should at least get the name of the B&B and call the police.’  
  
Yuuri’s heart stopped. ‘The police? No, no way! We don’t need to do that! You’re blowing this out of proportion- _Victor!’_  
  
Victor had started walking in, unfortunately, the right direction of the B &B. Yuuri hurried after him, skipping almost to try and keep up with Victor’s long strides. Phichit came along after, offering absolutely no assistance. Yuuri wanted to grab Victor by the collar, pull him back and force him to just _drop it._ All of it. The tears fell, hot on Yuuri’s cheeks. Overflowing emotion, like steam.  
  
‘Victor, stop!’  
  
‘Is this the right way?’ Victor asked, like Yuuri had said nothing. Yuuri made it up to Victor’s side, wanting to pull Victor over but unable to bring himself to actually reach out and touch. _Coward,_ a voice said in Yuuri’s head and he winced, overwhelmed by it for a moment. The tears got worse.  
  
‘Victor, please don’t do this,’ Yuuri tried hopelessly, not sure what to make of the cold, furious expression of Victor’s face. A very small part of him almost wanted to be flattered, but really, all Yuuri felt was frustration and anxiety. Victor wasn’t even supposed to know Yuuri was here at all, and now he wanted to go off and fight Yuuri’s battles for him? It was too much, all of it was too much and now Yuuri looked weak because he was crying. Yuuri was not weak. But he was afraid.

‘Phichit is right, Yuuri. This man is dangerous.’  
  
‘Then I’ll call the police when we get back to the hotel!’ Yuuri said quickly, having absolutely no intention of doing such a thing. He just wanted to forget the whole thing happened. There were too many other things to worry about now. Yuuri hurried forward, blocking Victor’s way. Victor looked down at him, bright eyes flicking up to Yuuri’s cut head briefly before Victor took in Yuuri’s crying. A shadow crossed over Victor’s face, too quick to see. Yuuri felt another tear roll down his cheek, holding himself steady.

Eros would be tough, Yuuri felt. Eros had run ins before, had stood up for himself and Yuuri never had the chance to feel afraid when he knew what to do. Thinking of that, Yuuri made himself up to be taller, stronger. ‘What are you even going to do when you get there? Go all macho Olympian on the man, defend my honour?’  
  
Victor gritted his teeth, the white of them flashing. ‘I have a few ideas.’

‘Like what? Are you going to hit him?’ Yuuri said, trying to put on a tone of disbelief. But Victor said nothing, just stared Yuuri down like Yuuri were a child who’d misbehaved. Yuuri had thought hearing Victor cry was the worst thing in the world, but this strange breed of distant responsibility was even worse. Yuuri didn’t want to be anyone’s burden. ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘There’s a great deal I can be,’ Victor snapped, words hot. Yuuri jumped, surprised and even saw Phichit shift uncomfortably behind them. ‘This man could’ve seriously hurt you, Yuuri.’

‘So you’re going to hurt him?’ Yuuri said quietly, something fragile coming out with the words as the fight went out of him. There was something raw in Victor’s voice, something that slipped right through Yuuri’s defences. Unbidden, Yuuri reached a hand out. ‘You don’t have this in you, Victor.’  
  
‘Oh, believe me, I do,’ Victor grumbled, elegantly stepping around Yuuri. Yuuri reached out, wrapping a hand around Victor’s arm and stopping him.

Victor froze, his body tall and perfect against the high morning light and yellow stone. Yuuri sighed, the breath he had been holding giving out with a small crumple of his resolve. Yuuri just looked, for that brief moment. It felt so good, just to look.

‘That’s not what I mean,’ Yuuri said, softer.  
  
Victor looked down at him, then to where Yuuri was holding them together. It was the first time they had touched since- well, since _before._ Yuuri flexed his fingers, feeling the hard press of Victor’s arm beneath the coat sleeve. Yuuri considered letting go, but couldn’t. It seemed too terrible a thing to do, all of a sudden.  
  
‘Of course you _can,_ but… That’s not the kind of person you are, Victor. And it’s not the kind of person I need you to be either.’  
  
Yuuri pulled gently, tugging Victor towards him. Yuuri felt like he was without gravity, without earth beneath his feet as they came closer. Victor hadn’t shaved yet, the grain of light stubble winking silver in the sun that streamed down the street. Yuuri wanted to touch it, wanted to press a kiss to the soft fold of Victor’s mouth. In this strange floating moment, Yuuri’s nerves rolled smooth. Yuuri cast his gaze up, meeting Victor’s eye.  
  
‘Please,’ Yuuri implored, almost whispering. Victor angled closer; turned like a dial. ‘Please, I just want to get back to the hotel. And I want you to come with me.’  
  
It was true. And maybe Yuuri knew, deep down, that Victor would do what Yuuri asked when asked like this. But it didn’t feel as designed as it should’ve, Yuuri’s thoughts scattered from their sole point of touch. Compass through paper and Yuuri’s sense falling into the space between. Vaguely, as Yuuri started to walk back and Victor following, Yuuri could hear the rhythmic tap of his anxious thoughts. Yakov, hotel, safe. But it was hard to give them the urgency they needed now, with Victor’s arm in his hand.  
  
Then it was over. Victor shrugged, taking a step away from Yuuri and despite everything, Yuuri felt stung. Victor straightened himself up, glancing over towards Phichit. He didn’t look at Yuuri again. ‘Fine. Let’s head back.’  
  
Like before, Victor walked past Yuuri with purpose, now in the opposite direction. Phichit replaced him at Yuuri’s side, but Yuuri just watched Victor’s broad back dazedly, letting Phichit guide him along down the path. Phichit was talking, Yuuri knew. But he wasn’t really listening, just nodding along to what Phichit said as Phichit tapped expertly with his one free hand on his phone.  
  
The walk back to the hotel was long, or felt it. Perhaps it was just the heaviness of the silence that soon descended down over them, Victor walking ahead with a steadiness Yuuri was envious of. Yuuri felt like he couldn’t stop shaking, like there was a chill in his bones that had crawled in when he wasn’t looking. It got so bad, Phichit actually removed his parka and put it around Yuuri’s shoulders.  
  
‘You don’t look well, Yuuri,’ Phichit said gently, rubbing Yuuri’s arms briskly as if to inspire warmth. Yuuri’s teeth chattered in reply, throat too swollen with all the things he couldn’t manage to say properly. Phichit tsked. ‘Are you sure nothing else happened?’  
  
‘No,’ Yuuri said, adjusting his glasses as Victor looked briefly over his shoulder. ‘Nothing happened to me, it wasn’t- it just wasn’t like that. Will you stop fretting?’  
  
‘No way, bud,’ Phichit said, squeezing Yuuri tightly. It tipped Yuuri off-balance for a moment, one of his feet raising off the pavement. ‘I’m not going to chill out until we get you back safe. Maybe not even then, to be honest.’  
  
‘I am safe,’ Yuuri mumbled, Victor turning back forward. Yuuri shivered, cold. Something had shifted inside of him and Yuuri balled his hands into fists, eyes down on the pavement. He counted each break in the cement. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen...  
  
As they walked into the lobby, Yuuri sighed with relief. It was practically empty and the idea of getting back to his and Phichit’s room, to the quiet of being alone… Yuuri went willingly as Phichit headed towards the elevator, Victor pausing only for a moment before deciding to follow. That awkward silence followed him, swelling in the small space between the three of them in the elevator.  
  
Victor had questions. Yuuri knew. He could practically see them skimming by like book pages in the way Victor chewed his cheek, eyes fixed on his fine leather shoes. Yuuri sank back further against the elevator wall, tugging Phichit’s parka tighter around himself. He thought of magicians, the way they would pull a cloak up before vanishing behind it. Yuuri wanted to vanish.  
  
They would need to talk, Yuuri knew as well. But it seemed too disjointed an inevitability at the moment. Whatever had fallen off-kilter in Yuuri’s head seemed reluctant to realign, the silence almost fuzzing in his ears like a noise itself. Yuuri had been like this before, a handful of times. One of which being Sochi. Yuuri remembered it clearly. How it had felt like he’d cried everything out of himself, choked on air until his lungs just gave out. Yuuri remembered the distant, silent walk back through the arena after. Like he’d fallen asleep somewhere along the way and dreamt his way home.  
  
Insanely, remembering this and finding himself in the same situation at the Grand Prix _again,_  made Yuuri laugh. It didn’t sound like one; it was a raspy rattle from the back of his throat and Yuuri looked away when he saw the way both Phichit and Victor looked at him with shock. They probably thought Yuuri had lost it. Maybe he had.  
  
When the elevator doors opened on the right floor, all three of them got out. And whatever strange, surreal peace Yuuri had begun to sink into was promptly swallowed whole from beneath him. As right down the hall, talking to Celestino with his back to them but undeniably so, was Yakov Feltsman.  
  
Yuuri stopped dead, a hand reaching out wildly and gripping onto the nearest person he could find. Oh god… _oh god._ Yuuri couldn’t breathe suddenly, fisting his other hand in his jumper over his chest as he tried to catch his breath. Someone was holding him, soothing him. But Yuuri couldn’t register that, pushing himself behind whomever he had grabbed onto.  
  
‘Yuuri, what are you doing?’  
  
‘I need to hide,’ Yuuri managed to get out from between his teeth, clenched like a vice that pinched all the way up to his brow. He closed his eyes, pushed into the soft wool of a coat. ‘Please, just get me out of the hallway. Please, please.’  
  
A strong arm came around Yuuri’s shoulders, held him close. ‘Come with me, Yuuri.’  
  
Yuuri held his breath as he was led a few more steps down the hallway, towards where Feltsman was. Yuuri was going to be seen, he was going to be caught with Victor. And everything, _everything,_ would’ve been for nothing. Yuuri heard a door click and opened his eyes just as he was shoved into a hotel room.  
  
It was a mirror for his and Phichit’s- twin beds with white sheets, wooden panelled walls and a panorama window of Barcelona against the opposite wall. Yuuri swayed on his feet, looking up as Victor suddenly cupped his face. It steadied Yuuri, a point of focus as his body slowly shuddered to a stop around himself. Victor was watching Yuuri very carefully, eyes so very blue. Had they always been?  
  
‘It’ll be alright,’ Victor said gently, thumb moving. Stroking, almost. Yuuri leaned into it, dazed. When he spoke, his voice caught.  
  
‘Don’t tell him I’m here. Please.’  
  
‘We won’t, it’ll be fine. Can you wait a moment?’ Victor said quickly, as from outside the hotel door, Yuuri could hear Phichit talking loudly, though he couldn’t make out what Phichit was saying. Yuuri nodded, not trusting himself to say anything else. Then Victor was gone, slipping back out into the hallway.  
  
Yuuri watched the door where it closed, but didn’t latch. It bounced softly from the jamb, leaving barely an inch open. Cautiously, Yuuri took a step forward, straining to hear. He jumped with surprise when he heard Yakov speak  
  
‘- I understand, Victor. But his coach was looking for him.’  
  
‘And I apologise to Mister Celestino, but please don’t blame Phichit for any of this. It was my own fault. We’d just had a little too much to drink and it seemed silly to make him leave when I had a perfectly good twin going to waste.’  
  
‘You should know better, Vitya,’ Yakov said gruffly and Yuuri pulled Phichit’s parka tighter around himself. ‘And you, Chulanont. I know this is your first Grand Prix, but you would do better not to let it get to your head like this in future, _da?’_ _  
_ _  
_ ‘Yes, Coach Feltsman,’ Phichit said, dutifully chastened. ‘And I’m so sorry, Ciao-Ciao. I didn’t mean to worry you, it was an accident we slept in so late.’  
  
‘We’ll talk about it later,’ Yuuri heard Celestino say sternly and he winced. Celestino really didn’t sound pleased. ‘Get your things and meet me back downstairs.’  
  
‘At least you slept in today and not tomorrow,’ Yakov replied, before evidently addressing Victor solely as his next sentence was in Russian and incomprehensible to Yuuri. Victor replied quickly, his voice a low timbre. Yuuri stepped away from the door, retreating further into the room and instead looking out across the Barcelona view from the window.  
  
‘Yuuri?’  
  
Yuuri jumped with a fretful squeak, but it was only Phichit who had let himself into the room. Victor followed after him, closing the door with a soft _click._ Phichit walked straight over to Yuuri, holding him by the shoulders.  
  
‘Yuuri, I need to go to Ciao-Ciao. He was really freaking out that I didn’t meet him when I said I would,’ Phichit said, dark eyes roaming over Yuuri’s face. Yuuri was nodding already, though Phichit hadn’t asked him anything yet. It just seemed like the thing to do. ‘I’ll go and I’ll sort it all out, I promise. Everything is going to be fine, but I have to go now.’  
  
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Yuuri was saying softly through the whole thing, agreeing. But Phichit’s look of concern only got worse, eyebrows narrowed with a firm frown. He leaned in close and Yuuri sank against him, feeling so heavy.  
  
‘I don’t think you should be alone right now,’ Phichit said seriously, his arms wrapping around Yuuri’s shoulders. Phichi pulled Yuuri close, his breath feathering Yuuri’s hair. ‘Do you think you can come with me?’

Something ice cold gripped Yuuri’s heart so it burned. He shook his head, tears blooming. All Yuuri had wanted at first was to be alone, but suddenly the thought of not having Phichit there, of not having anyone to hold him down, Yuuri was afraid he’d fall into a pit somewhere. Yuuri didn’t realise how much he had been shaking until Phichit pulled away, cooing softly and whispering that it was all alright.

‘Okay, okay,’ Phichit said, a hand coming up to brush through Yuuri’s hair. ‘Can you stay with him, just until I fix Celestino?’  
  
‘Of course,’ Victor answered from behind them. ‘But only if Yuuri is comfortable with that.’  
  
Phichit held Yuuri’s face, making Yuuri look at him. ‘Yuuri, hey. Hey. Is that okay?’  
  
Yuuri looked at Victor over Phichit’s shoulder. That blank look from before was back, as carefully constructed as any of Victor’s skates. The steadiness of it made Yuuri feel present, as Yuuri found himself staring across the room at his consequences. Everything was real, it was very real and Yuuri knew it, because the damage it had done was there in front of it. It wasn’t comforting, but it was grounding and Yuuri latched onto it.  
  
‘That’s fine,’ Yuuri said, watching Victor the whole time. Victor looked away first. ‘I’d like to stay here.’  
  
‘Alright then,’ Phichit said, but he sounded wary. He took his coat from Yuuri gently, promising to have his phone should Yuuri need him more immediately, but right now, Phichit was going to go and smooth things over with Celestino. Yuuri silently nodded along, grateful for Phichit’s hug when Phichit went to leave. Phichit paused with Victor, the two of them exchanging a look. Whatever they wanted to say to the other, Phichit decided against it and left without another word.  
  
Alone, Yuuri and Victor stood at opposite ends of the room. Yuuri wondered if he closed his eyes and leant back far enough if he would just fall straight through the window. Plummet down from the tenth floor to oblivion. Inadvertently, Yuuri shivered.  
  
‘Yuuri,’ Victor said and Yuuri looked over to him, struck dumb by the sheer enormity of everything there was possibly to say. Victor took a step, then stopped. Yuuri crossed his arms over his chest, grabbing onto his own arms and squeezing. Squeezed until it hurt, until he felt his own nails through the soft cotton of his sweater. ‘Is there anything I can do for you, right now?’  
  
‘I… I don’t know,’ Yuuri said truthfully, ashamed to admit that he had expected the first thing Victor was going to say to be something angry. Victor ran a hand through his hair, beautiful fringe falling back into place perfectly like it was always styled that way.  
  
‘I’m sorry, I don’t really know what to do here,’ Victor admitted and Yuuri ached. He squeezed his own arms again, trying to tug himself out of the spiral. When he looked at Victor again, Victor was watching Yuuri carefully. ‘Perhaps a shower. It might help to get clean, freshen up?’  
  
Yuuri nodded, though he wasn’t entirely convinced. He was too busy waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Victor to turn and snap at him. Yuuri tried to build bricks of an argument, tried to prepare himself for the inevitable anger Victor would throw at him as Victor went into the glass panelled bathroom. Yuuri watched the clouded shape of Victor through the mottled glass, listened to the hiss and clatter of the shower as it started.  
  
This couldn’t…. It couldn’t be _it,_ surely? Yuuri stepped from one foot to the other, shifting his weight as he tried to get himself together. But Yuuri felt fractured, different thoughts and fears scattered too far apart to cohesively bring together. Yuuri wished he could sleep. Or drink. Anything, just to stop ringing in his skull. Yuuri was so lost in these thoughts, he jumped when Victor touched him, having missed Victor walking up to him at all.  
  
‘I think the water is okay, if you like,’ Victor said, his hand lingering only for a moment on Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri nodded, letting Victor guide him to the bathroom.  
  
Victor moved away from Yuuri, fishing out something from the small black bag on the sink counter. Yuuri looked at the shower, glass door swung open and watched the water rain down. Without thinking, Yuuri walked across the bathroom and stepped into the small, tiled space.  
  
The water hit him with a shock. Yuuri gasped, hands crossed and sliding up his chest. Fingers a scarf around his neck as the hot water cascaded down on top of him. It was all Yuuri could focus on, listening to the gentle _plit-plit_ of water hitting his glasses. The water ran down his face, through his hair. Poured all the way down his back and soaked through his jeans. His shoes.  
  
‘Yuuri!’  
  
Victor turned Yuuri around, attempting to guide Yuuri back out of the shower but Yuuri shook his head, reaching back. His hands hit Victor’s chest, open palmed and searching. They spread water across the front of Victor’s coat, droplets pebbled on the expensive wool. Yuuri blinked through the water than ran through his eyes, glasses falling down his nose. He opened his mouth, trying to speak, but Yuuri found he couldn’t. Hot water pooled in the seam of his lips.  
  
Carefully, Victor took Yuuri’s glasses off him. Yuuri blinked, vision blurring without them and the water. Victor stepped away, putting the glasses on the counter. Then Victor pulled his coat off, toed off his shoes. Yuuri watched the fuzzy blur of Victor toss his shirt onto the pile, coming up to Yuuri again. The small step into the shower the only thing between them. Victor reached across the distance, pale arms exposed.  
  
‘Lift your arms for me, Yuuri,’ Victor said gently and Yuuri obeyed, could think of nothing but to do so. Victor awkwardly but successfully pulled Yuuri’s sweater over his head, the fabric heavy with water and dragging rough on Yuuri’s skin. It hit the floor of the shower with a dull _slap._ ‘I’m going to do your trousers now, Yuuri. Is that alright?’  
  
Yuuri nodded silently again, reaching out and putting a hand on each of Victor’s shoulders. Holding himself steady as under the weight of the water, Yuuri suddenly felt dizzy. He swayed forward, towards Victor and felt Victor’s hands gather at his waist. He held Yuuri firm and Yuuri knew, with bone deep certainty, that Victor would not drop him. Somehow, knowing this one thing snapped Yuuri like glass.  
  
Yuuri sobbed, eyes squeezed shut as his face flushed with tears. Yuuri was submerged, lungs full and tears blister hot beneath the shower water. Yuuri was flooding and he knew he’d flood Victor, too, but Yuuri couldn’t stop it. He cried with a whine in the back of his throat, everything that had happened that morning- the fear that held him ransom, the panic, _Victor-_ bursting hot over Yuuri’s surface and cracking it.  
  
Victor stepped forward, crowding Yuuri back against the shower wall. His arms were long, warm and wet as they wrapped around Yuuri. Victor held Yuuri against himself, chest to chest. Yuuri bent his head beneath Victor’s chin, cried into Victor’s skin and made a noose of his arms around Victor’s neck. Victor said nothing, but his hands moved in slow, certain circles on Yuuri’s back.  
  
Yuuri sank into Victor’s weight, tightened his grip. Now that he was crying, Yuuri couldn’t stop. He had been so afraid. He was, still. Of what Victor was thinking, what Victor might say. But Victor wasn’t saying anything now, just holding Yuuri and accepting the tears and the snot. Yuuri gasped, sobbing running dry of breath for a moment and Victor moved, kissing the top of Yuuri’s head.  
  
‘It’s alright,’ Victor said, barely audible over the rush of water in Yuuri’s ears. ‘I’ve got you. It’s all going to be alright.’  
  
It wasn’t, Yuuri knew. But right now, Yuuri let himself believe it.  
  
Yuuri wasn’t sure how long they spent there, under the spray of hot water. But at some point, his crying had waned and now his eyes hung heavy, the kind of swollen weight only crying gave. Victor disentangled himself from Yuuri slowly, hands careful and soothing with every touch. Victor fidgeted with the shower gauge and the water stopped. Without a steady stream, Yuuri’s soaked jeans got a chill quick.  
  
‘I’m going to get you some clothes,’ Victor said, stepping out of the shower. His hair was pushed back away from his face, cheeks red from the heat. Yuuri’s heart trembled like a chime.  
  
Yuuri thought of when his sister had taught him to use the frying pan. How she had dropped water into it to check the heat, and how the water had burst. Shattering, almost and skittering off in every direction. Looking at Victor now felt like that, Yuuri thought. Too great a thing to name was burning hot in Yuuri’s heart, splitting him open like a stone.  
  
Victor had water pooled around his bare feet where it ran from his own trousers. He told Yuuri he’d be back in a moment, leaving a trail of water behind him as Victor left the bathroom. Yuuri leaned back, until his head hit the tiled wall. He looked up at the shower head, counted the small circles on it. One, two, three-  
  
‘Here you are, Yuuri,’ Victor said, surprising Yuuri again. Victor was in a bathrobe now, placing what looked like folded pyjamas onto the counter next to Yuuri’s glasses. Victor stepped up the shower door, gestured to the towel rack. ‘Dry yourself off and put these on. Don’t worry about your clothes, I’ll get them cleaned by reception.’  
  
‘Okay,’ Yuuri said, voice torn from tears. Victor just watched him, water running from his still wet hair. This close, Yuuri watched it run down Victor’s white neck, into the white cotton of the bathrobe. White, like a scar. Yuuri blinked, meeting Victor’s eye. ‘Victor… thank you.’  
  
Victor swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his skin. ‘You’re very welcome, Yuuri.’  
  
At that, Victor turned and left. Yuuri just managed to peel his jeans off, wincing as the wet material scraped the back of his knees raw. Tore at his pruned fingers. Once free of it, Yuuri tossed his boxers with it and stepped into the bathroom proper, retrieving his glasses. Yuuri could see Victor through the glass wall, but Victor had his back to him. Yuuri felt a stab of fondness, so sharp it punctured him.  
  
Once dried off and in Victor’s pyjamas, a black tee and soft trousers, Yuuri stepped into the hotel room. He was quiet in his bare feet and Victor didn’t seem to notice him yet. Yuuri waited for a moment, watching as Victor shifted his weight. The roll of his back. Yuuri leaned against the wall, hand up flat against it. Grounding himself, for the strike of something destructive.  
  
Finally, Yuuri spoke; ‘Victor?’  
  
Victor turned at once, his fringe drying in a feathery wing. Yuuri liked it, but guilt for admiring weighed him down suddenly. It was beginning to creep back now, all of it. Yuuri took a breath, but it shook out of him. Victor walked forward, stopping by the end of the beds as he seemingly thought better of getting much closer. Yuuri wished, selfishly, that Victor was closer.  
  
‘Are you feeling any better?’ Victor asked, accent rolling off his tongue in a wave and Yuuri let it wash over him. Everything seemed _more_ now. Yuuri shrugged, answering honestly.  
  
‘I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel right now.’  
  
‘I suppose that’s to be expected,’ Victor said, putting his hands on his hips. Yuuri pulled at his bottom lip with his teeth, tore at the loose skin there. It stung. ‘I don’t really know what to say.’  
  
Yuuri let the wall carry more of his weight. Exhaustion pulsed through him, but Yuuri knew there was no running from this. Yuuri wanted to and the shame of it made him wince. Yuuri had never been the bravest, he felt himself. But none of it could be helped now.  
  
‘You were going to be here the whole time. You lied to me,’ Victor said quietly, but the words were so heavy they sank to the floor. Sitting between the two of them like a trench. Yuuri looked away, staring unseeingly at the opposite wall above the beds.  
  
‘I didn’t mean to lie,’ Yuuri said weakly, crossing an arm over his stomach defensively. ‘I just didn’t tell the truth.’  
  
‘Is there a difference?’ Victor said hardly and Yuuri flinched, though he knew he deserved it. ‘What you did was as good as a lie. I thought you weren’t coming.’  
  
‘You were never supposed to see me,’ Yuuri admitted softly and Victor made a choked noise, pulling Yuuri’s gaze back to him. Yuuri’s stomach turned like a screw, tight and unyielding. Victor shook his head.  
  
‘That was your plan? Just hide in the stands and hope I never met you in the hallways?’ Victor said and Yuuri didn’t bother to explain how he had meticulously planned to watch the skate from his hotel room, not entering the arena at all. Didn’t bother to explain how Yuuri was only physically here as a support for Phichit. Yuuri knew Victor knew all that already. Knew that Victor was right to throw the weak excuse away as it deserved.

‘I didn’t... I had to be here for Phichit. But I wasn’t really thinking any of it through.’  
  
‘Do you think anything through?’ Victor asked bitterly, turning on the spot. Victor looked at his own reflection in the mirror on the wall as Yuuri stared at his own bare feet on the room floor. They were cold from the tile. ‘Or do you always just tell people what they want to hear?’  
  
Yuuri didn’t say anything to that, any retort he may have had seemed shallow if said aloud. Victor sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging. He put a hand over his eyes, pinching his nose between.  
  
‘I’m sorry,’ Victor said and Yuuri was confused. Victor looked at Yuuri, expression pained. ‘I shouldn’t do this, we shouldn’t. Not now. Not after what happened to you this morning.’  
  
Yuuri bristled, itching with unease. ‘Nothing happened to me this morning. It was a misunderstanding. I handled it.’  
  
‘Misunderstanding? Yuuri, that man locked you in a room! You split your head open!’ Victor said, voice rising like a wave before he cut himself off. Victor took a deep breath through bared teeth and Yuuri felt a stab of frustration. ‘He scared you, he _hurt_ you, what if he tried to-?’  
  
‘I wouldn’t have let that happen,’ Yuuri snapped, hands shaking. He tightened his own grip against his stomach. Yuuri wasn’t sure where the anger was coming from, but it poured out of him; ‘You’re not my bodyguard, Victor. I’ve survived this long without you. I’m a grown man, I don’t need you to come saving me.’  
  
‘I warned you,’ Victor said, sounding equally upset and seemingly ignoring what Yuuri had said which only served to nettle Yuuri more. Yuuri felt his hackles rise as Victor waved a hand madly. ‘I knew something like this would happen. I asked you what you would do if the next client was like this-’  
  
‘This isn’t about my job, Victor. It’s about you. And anyway, the guy wasn’t a client!’ Yuuri retorted hotly with a toss of his head, interrupting Victor’s scolding. It took a few moments for Yuuri to realise how long Victor had been silent. Yuuri’s anger went cool, words gone with it. ‘I… I’m sorry, I just- I don’t…’  
  
‘Then who was he?’ Victor asked quietly, voice shockingly fragile. Yuuri shut his eyes, dug his fingers into the soft flesh of his own waist. It pinched.  
  
‘No one. I met him in the bar,’ Yuuri said, getting quieter with each word. Until he was nearly whispering. ‘He didn’t know about me, my job. It wasn’t anything like that.’  
  
‘I see,’ was all Victor said to that, tone neutral. When Yuuri chanced a look at him, Victor was facing the mirror again, long arms crossed over his chest. Yuuri felt very small, eyes stinging. ‘And you went home with him?’  
  
Yuuri struggled around his answer. ‘It just sort of happened.’  
  
‘Sort of happened,’ Victor repeated dully and Yuuri felt cornered. He rolled his shoulders, sliding slightly against the cool glass wall he was leaning on. ‘Yuuri, do you have any idea how scared we were? Phichit and I?’  
  
‘You shouldn’t have been involved-’ Yuuri started but Victor made a frustrated noise. He turned on the spot, walking towards Yuuri for a moment, before turning and heading towards the window. Yuuri moved before he could think about it, taking tentative steps across the room towards Victor’s back.  
  
‘Christ, Yuuri. That’s now how things work,’ Victor said to the window, running both hands through his hair. Yuuri paused, watching them trail down Victor’s head until he knotted them behind his neck. Like an anchor. ‘You were missing, no phone. Phichit was in a state. He should’ve come to me. What else did you expect him to do?’  
  
‘I didn’t-’  
  
‘You didn’t what?’ Victor said hardly, turning and facing Yuuri. He looked surprised for a moment to see Yuuri had moved, but Victor recovered quickly. He raised his hands in a questioning manner. ‘Didn’t think of that? He’s your best-friend, Yuuri. There was no way he wouldn’t have come for you.’  
  
‘I know, I know,’ Yuuri said, voice squeaking as the threat of tears rose its head again. It seemed he hadn’t cried everything out yet. Yuuri looked away sharply, mortified. ‘I just wanted to forget myself. Just for a while.’  
  
‘But, Yuuri, Phichit was here. What possessed you to go off with some stranger’s bed?’ Victor asked, incredulous.  
  
‘We didn’t do anything!’ Yuuri blurted out, before instantly flinching with embarrassment. Victor looked at him, head titled in what Yuuri felt was disbelief. Yuuri swallowed his nerves. ‘Me and that guy. We didn’t- you know, there wasn’t anything _like that._ We just… okay, we made out. But only a little!’

That last part came out kind of desperate and all pathetic, as Yuuri really would’ve preferred to admit to nothing at all. But he just couldn’t do that. Not with Victor in front of him, with everything suddenly so heavy between them. Yuuri wanted to be clear about this. Wanted Victor to understand. Despite everything, Yuuri just couldn’t stop himself. He thought of the shower; the hot, steamed space and Victor holding him, telling Yuuri everything would be alright. Would it still be, after this?

‘Please don't be angry,’ Yuuri whispered, knowing he sounded rather pitiful and uncaring about it. Yuuri rubbed at his cheek with a wrist, wiping the tear that ran there.

Victor gave him a careful look, almost forcibly blank again. Yuuri hated that look.  It made Yuuri want to shout, or cry. He wanted to lash out until Victor did something, anything, that wasn't just that dull stare. Wanted to crack Victor’s veneer like glass. When Yuuri spoke again, his voice was high with tears that grew hot fast.

‘Please. I know… I know I deserve it. But just for now, don't be angry with me. I’ll say something stupid, or mean, because I always do and if I hurt you anymore, I might lose you altogether and I can't- _I can't.’_

Yuuri stuttered to a stop, his breath catching as he suddenly gave way to tears entirely. He raised a hand to try and cover his mouth, to try and stifle himself but the choked words bullied their way out from between his fingers anyway as he watched Victor’s face go pale. Yuuri started to cry in earnest, shoulders shaking and chest heaving. Victor reached a hand out.

‘It meant nothing, it really d-didn’t. I regretted it the second I woke up.,’ Yuuri said, voice thick and desperate. ‘So please, stay with me. Just for now. Be angry tomorrow instead.’

‘Yuuri,’ Victor said softly, looking like he might walk over but he stopped himself. Body in a short shimmy as he teetered on the balls of his feet. Victor rolled his shoulders. ‘ _Chyort,_ I’m not angry about the guy.’  
  
Yuuri took a moment to try and control himself, wiping at his wet nose.

‘You’re… not upset? At all?’ Yuuri asked, puzzled and perhaps even a tad suspicious. Victor pulled a face, eyes wide.

‘I’m not thrilled,’ Victor replied tersely and Yuuri was proud of himself for keeping Victor’s eye, despite the anxious need to look away. ‘But no. I'm not upset you were with someone else.’

‘Really?’ Yuuri said, baffled. ‘But in Moscow you got so jealous!’

Victor flinched at that and Yuuri regretted saying anything, but then Victor sighed deeply. His shoulders sank, like he was physically deflating.  
  
‘Yuuri, you could've slept with every state America had to offer and it wouldn't matter to me. I don't care who you sleep with. What matters is that you're safe!’ Victor exclaimed, something breaking between them. Victor strode across the room, arms reaching out.  
  
Victor gently took Yuuri’s hands away from his face, brushing Yuuri’s tears for him with pale fingers. Yuuri leaned into the contact, the deepest part of him trembling. Afraid to accept Victor’s comfort and unable to resist it.  
  
‘Oh, Yuuri, look at you,’ Victor murmured, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Yuuri’s head. ‘I’m so sorry you thought I was angry at you for that. What that man did was terrible and not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong, Yuuri. You’re the victim.’  
  
Yuuri balked at that, panic a tight rope around his heart. He lashed out, hand slapping flat against Victor’s chest as Yuuri forced distance between them. Yuuri’s breath shook, but he met Victor’s confused stare.  
  
‘I am not a victim,’ Yuuri said firmly, though his voice was rasping. ‘He didn’t hurt me.’  
  
Victor frowned. ‘You know that’s not the point. That doesn’t make it any less scary, any less terrible.’  
  
‘Stop saying that!’ Yuuri flashed, anger bursting out of him like a bullet. Victor’s eyes went wide, shocked. Yuuri scoffed, pulling his hand back like Victor had burnt him. ‘It was just a stupid misunderstanding. He was a creep, but that’s it. I’m not a victim, or anything like it. It didn’t come to that.’  
  
‘Not this time,’ Victor replied sharply, matching Yuuri’s frustration it seemed. ‘And thank Christ it didn’t. But you’ve always been careful, Yuuri. I know you have, you’ve told me before!’ Victor pushed his hair from his face. Nervous tick, Yuuri knew. Yuuri’s heart pulled like a string. ‘But not this time. This time it’s like you put yourself in harm’s way!’  
  
‘Oh, so now it’s my fault? I thought I was the _victim,’_ Yuuri said meanly and Victor paled, but didn’t pull his temper back.  
  
‘You know damn well that’s not what I mean,’ Victor said, crowding into Yuuri’s space and Yuuri stumbled backwards, surprised. Victor didn’t touch him and despite how angry Yuuri was, how heavy the resentment spit fire in the back of his throat, a part of him felt unsteady with Victor to hold onto. ‘You said you wanted to forget yourself. Why? What was so terrible that you couldn’t go to Phichit, that you couldn’t come to _me_ when I was right down the hall?’  
  
Victor’s voice was wavering and Yuuri’s blood went cold as he realised with devastation that Victor was about to cry.  
  
Yuuri felt disjointed, a roiling cocktail brimming to life inside of him as guilt starting to crawl back into his head. It met the hard resistance of resentment as Yuuri straightened his back, trying to make himself taller. But Victor still had him beat by a good few inches that felt bigger in this moment. Looking up at Victor, drowning in his presence, Yuuri spoke before he could tailor his answer;  
  
‘You,’ Yuuri said thickly. Victor’s lips parted, the flash of something fragile across his face. ‘What I did to you. It was- it _is_ killing me. Knowing you were so close and that I couldn’t see you, speak to you. I didn’t know what to do with myself without you. I felt so bad and I just wanted to forget about it, just for a while.’  
  
‘But I’m here, Yuuri,’ Victor said desperately, hands up. Cupping Yuuri’s face, thumbs on Yuuri’s cheeks. They had done this so many times, but every time, Yuuri’s heart still stuttered to a stop. ‘I’m right here, where you left me. And not just me; Phichit, too. Your coach. We were all here. If you were feeling like this why couldn’t you just come to us?’  
  
‘It doesn’t work like that,’ Yuuri said, eyes dropping and struggling to breathe through his nose now. ‘It’s my fault. All of this.’ Victor opened his mouth to protest, but Yuuri continued; ‘How could I ask anything of you after what I did? And it’s the final, _kuso!_ I was trying so hard not to worry Phichit. He’s already been so distracted and that’s my fault, too.’  
  
Yuuri was shaking again. Maybe he hadn’t stopped, from the moment he’d left the B &B that morning. One of Victor’s hands drifted, catching onto Yuuri’s arm. Down to Yuuri’s wrist. Victor’s hands were large, fingers almost meeting around the soft bend of it. Victor wasn’t gripping, just keeping his presence there and Yuuri loved Victor so much in that moment, it winded him.  
  
Oh.  
  
Yuuri frowned to himself, blinking through tears as he realised that somehow, somewhere, Yuuri hadn’t noticed he had fallen in love with Victor. Falling in love with someone seemed like the kind of thing that was so large, it could be seen far over the horizon. But now, Yuuri couldn’t help but picture love as something infinitely smaller. Something he’d put in his pocket once and never noticed he’d been carrying it all this time.  
  
‘I…’ Yuuri trailed off, quite unsure of what he was going to say.  
  
Victor brushed the hair from Yuuri’s face, his light eyebrows furrowed with a look of great concentration. Yuuri looked Victor all over, absorbing the shape of his eyes. The green that spiraled in the blue of them. ‘Where do you go, Yuuri?’  
  
Yuuri said nothing, confused. Victor kept brushing at Yuuri’s hair, fingers grazing over Yuuri’s skin.  
  
‘When you go quiet,’ Victor went on, still looking so serious. ‘I’ve always wondered. Why do you bury everything like this? It’s alright to be afraid, it’s alright to ask for help from the people who love you. But you never do.’  
  
‘I can fight my own battles,’ Yuuri answered and Victor’s fingers tightened slightly on his wrist. Yuuri turned his hand, gently slipping out of Victor’s grip. ‘I don’t need anyone to come rescue me. It’s my life and I won’t let it be a burden to someone else.’  
  
‘Yuuri,’ Victor said, tone almost pleading. ‘Don’t think that way about yourself. You’re not a burden, no one thinks that.’  
  
‘I’m better on my own,’ Yuuri said steadily, though he felt like he was coming apart at the seams. Victor’s expression the edge of a scissors through each thread.  
  
‘Why do you do that?’ Victor asked, hand sliding down from Yuuri’s hair. Beneath his jaw, so Victor’s thumb aligned with the bone. ‘Why do you isolate yourself like this? You’re allowed to ask for help when you need it, Yuuri. It doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t make you a burden.’  
  
‘You don’t understand. I don’t even know if you could, Victor.’  
  
‘Do you want to be alone?’ Victor asked, thumb adding pressure. His touch breaching Yuuri’s walls and catching Yuuri’s thoughts down. Yuuri met Victor’s eye, affection welling like blood from a wound. ‘Because if that’s what you want, what you really want, then I won’t stop you.’  
  
Yuuri’s hand moved before he could even think about it. He latched onto the soft cotton of Victor’s robe, twisting it in his hand as Yuuri pulled Victor closer. Victor went and only after he did, did Yuuri realise that he knew Victor would. Victor would always come to meet Yuuri halfway.  
  
‘I don’t think you want to be alone, Yuuri,’ Victor said, his voice going quiet as they came together. Yuuri’s tears had stopped, cheeks feeling raw from the salt. Victor’s other hand came up and held Yuuri’s waist. ‘No one does. And it doesn’t have to me, Yuuri. But you need to open up to someone, you need to let someone into that beautiful, frustrating head of yours.’  
  
Yuuri swallowed, aching to speak but unable to shake the feeling that to do so was surrendering something Yuuri had been holding onto for so long, he may never get the stain of it off his fingers.  
  
‘I still have so many questions,’ Victor said when Yuuri stayed silent. His hair was almost dry now and Yuuri loved how it curled, the silver illuminated by the morning light behind them from the window. ‘But I need to know this now. You and me, everything we did, was it real?’  
  
‘Yes,’ Yuuri said, resolute. ‘From the moment you kissed me the first time.’  
  
‘Do you love me?’ Victor asked and Yuuri stalled, sure but the word was still so huge. So heavy on his tongue. Yuuri had always thought it would be easy.  
  
‘I can’t tell you,’ Yuuri said honestly and Victor narrowed his eyes, but didn’t move away.  
  
‘What kind of answer is that?’ Victor replied, the corners of his mouth twitching.  
  
‘The only one I’ve got,’ Yuuri said, breathless. Victor leaned forward; another light, barely there kiss to Yuuri’s forehead.  
  
‘Then that’s enough for me.’

They stood in silence for what felt like too long and not long enough. Yuuri let himself get carried in the current of Victor holding him safe, of the rub of Victor’s thumb on his face and the grip of Victor’s hand on his waist. They stood long enough for the tears to stop, for Yuuri’s head to start throbbing noticeably again. Victor held Yuuri’s hand, leading him to sit on the bed.  
  
‘Let me get you some paracetamol.’  
  
Yuuri nodded, idly thinking of checking his phone while Victor rummaged through one of his suitcase on the rack before remembering that Phichit had left to meet Celestino with it. Sighing, Yuuri rubbed at his temple, feeling the small bump that lurked just above his hairline. He accepted Victor’s paracetamol with a smile. ‘Thank you.’  
  
‘Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?’  
  
‘I’m very sure. But-’  
  
Yuuri stopped, self-conscious. Victor knelt down in front of him, almost level with Yuuri sitting on the edge of the bed. Yuuri ran his hands up and down his own thighs anxiously.  
  
‘Can I stay here? For a little bit longer?’  
  
‘Of course,’ Victor said immediately, putting a hand on Yuuri’s knee. It was cool through the pajamas. ‘But I can’t stay here all day. I’ll have to show my face at training for a while at least, or else Yakov will come drag my by the heels kicking and screaming.’  
  
Yuuri froze, the shadow of Yakov Feltsman descending over his thoughts. Victor seemed to notice the change, frowning with worry.  
  
‘I can try and get out of it-’  
  
‘No, you can’t,’ Yuuri said, slightly panicky. Victor squeezed Yuuri’s knee comfortingly. ‘It’s the short-program tomorrow and I’ve distracted you long enough. Please, go. I’ll wait here for you.’  
  
Victor watched Yuuri carefully. ‘Will you really? There’s a lot I still want to talk to you about.’  
  
‘I promise,’ Yuuri said solemnly, making the decision. ‘And I promise to answer all your questions. Everything. But I’ll never forgive myself if you don’t get some skating done with the final starting tomorrow, so please, go. I’ll be here.’

Victor agreed to go, but he didn’t look happy about it. Victor took his kit and got changed in the bathroom, Yuuri watching the skyline to give Victor some privacy. When Victor was dressed and his gear-bag thrown over his shoulder, he lingered still. Opening and closing his mouth, seemingly still hovering over what to say. Yuuri stood up from the bed.

‘Can I hug you?’ Yuuri asked, which wasn’t what he had planned to say at all but Victor opened his arms at once. Yuuri went into the embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around Victor’s waist as Victor held his shoulders. ‘I’ll see you later. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ Victor said, before he finally left.

Yuuri was alone.

Yuuri physically collapsed onto the bed. The hotel room was silent around him, glass too good and too high for any noticeable traffic noise to bleed through. Yuuri curled in on himself, breathed in the smell of Victor that surrounded him from the pajamas. It really wasn’t anything too distinctive; fabric conditioner, the bare notes of cologne. But Yuuri knew it to be Victor and it was enough.

The worst of the anxiety had passed, Yuuri felt. Now all he was left with was the emotional hangover. Any actual hangover he may have been suffering seemed to have been flushed out with everything else, leaving only the dull ache in his head that was beginning to ease as the paracetamol took effect.

‘I am not a victim,’ Yuuri said again to himself, pulling a pillow down from the top of the bed. He curled around it, like it were a teddy bear. Yuuri closed his eyes, so tired he could almost sleep.

But his head wouldn’t shut up. Everything, from start to finish, spinning around in his head so Yuuri felt dizzy. Yuuri wasn’t hurt, there was nothing to be scared of anymore. But Yuuri still felt a nervous itch in the back of his neck with having his back to the door, something he ignored out of stubborn indignancy.

Eros wouldn’t be scared, Yuuri thought. Eros has faced all kinds of rotten people and gotten away unscathed. It never lingered, not really. Not like this. Yuuri always felt he could fold whatever it was like paper, until it was so small he could slide it away out of sight.  
  
_Why do you do that?_ Yuuri heard Victor ask him.  
  
Yuuri had always done that, as long as he could remember. Taken what had scared him, what had hurt him and tried to make it small, insignificant because then it was easier for Yuuri to carry. When all he had was himself, Yuuri couldn’t let himself get weighed down. Otherwise he’d drown.  
  
But Yuuri didn’t have to be alone. All his careful planning, all his desperately constructed lies had crumbled down and would continue doing so once Victor got back. Victor deserved nothing less than that and Yuuri was tired. He was just so tired and a part of him beat impatience with telling Victor everything. Phichit, too.  
  
They would be angry, Yuuri knew. They deserved to be. Yuuri wasn’t blind to the hypocrisy he’d committed in making decisions for them, in locking them out of his worries. And thinking about Victor crying, about Phichit’s huff of frustration made Yuuri wish he could curl in on himself until he was nothing. But the time for hiding was over now. Yuuri had always done everything he could for himself because that was all he thought he had. It didn’t have to be like that anymore.  
  
Yuuri sat up, looking over to the phone on the bedside table. He had a couple of false starts, but once he’d finally dialed in the number, Yuuri felt certain. The fear inside him eased its grip, a sense of calm purpose coming over him as a man answered in Spanish on the other end of the line.  
  
_‘En inglés, por favor,’_ Yuuri requested politely, before he was transferred along to someone with accented English. ‘Hello. I’d like to make an anonymous tip. There’s a man in a B &B, about a block away from the Bodega de Café. Yeah, I think that’s it. I’m sorry I don’t remember the name. But there’s a man there, I think he could be dangerous.’  
  
After, Yuuri called Phichit. They couldn’t talk long, (Yuuri could practically hear Celestino grinding his teeth across the line and it took a lot to get Ciao-Ciao to that point, and neither he or Phichit wanted to push it), but Yuuri reassured Phichit that he was fine, that Phichit could keep his phone for a bit longer. He was in Victor’s room and he’d stay there until Victor was finished his own training, as they had things to talk about.  
  
‘Do you want me there?’ Phichit asked, all concern. Yuuri thought about it.  
  
‘No, not this time,’ he said after a moment. Phichit made a small huff and Yuuri smiled, unbidden. ‘There are things Victor and I need to talk about alone. You and me, too. I know you’re angry.’  
  
‘I don’t have time to be angry right now with everything, but yeah, you’ve got so much explaining to do.’  
  
‘I know,’ Yuuri said, truly sorry. ‘And I promise to do that. But I need to do this first.’  
  
‘Call me when you need me,’ Phichit said, crying something away from the line as Celestino was no doubt rushing him. _When,_ not _if._ Yuuri was overwhelmed with affection for Phichit then, smiling again.  
  
‘I will. Now go and train. Tomorrow is all that matters,’ Yuuri said gently.  
  
‘It’s not the only thing that matters,’ Phichit said firmly and Yuuri wished he could hug him. ‘But I do have to go. Look after yourself and I’ll see you soon, okay?’  
  
'Okay.'  
  
'Yuuri?'  
  
'Yeah?'  
  
'I love you,' Phichit said and Yuuri only hesitated for a moment.  
  
'I love you, too. Now go.'

 

* * *

 

Victor landed his triple lutz with a slap of skates. He almost two-footed the landing, but there was a gaggle of polite applause and whoops from the stands from those who had come to watch the warm-ups. Victor ignored them, spinning on the counter before skating out of formation altogether. Yakov was at the rink-wall, frown hidden from the shadow of his hat but Victor didn’t need to see it to know it was there.  
  
It was a like a sixth sense now. From across an ocean, Victor could feel Yakov’s disapproval.  
  
Before he could do anything about it though, a hard hand slapped Victor in the middle of his back. Victor fell forward, alarmed.  
  
‘Oi’ he cried, turning only to be hit again. This time on the shoulder. Staring up at him from beneath a sloppy bun that was definitely starting to come apart was Yuri, green eyes burning with spite as always. Victor sighed irritably. ‘What do you want?’

‘You suck,’ Yuri said in reply and Victor rolled his eyes, already skating away. He had enough to worry about without Yuri’s tantrums. Victor’s eyes wandered to the great electronic clock up by the ceiling. He’d already been here over an hour. Victor wanted to finish. ‘Have you finally cracked or something?’  
  
‘Leave it, Yurio,’ Victor said, using the nickname to frustrate Yuri in revenge. It worked as Yuri growled petulantly.  
  
‘Don’t call me that. Your piggy’s not around anymore and I was here first.’  
  
Victor didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he looked over to Yakov, wondering if he’d be able to swing skipping his full cooldown so he could get back to the room with Yuuri.  
  
Yuuri. Victor’s head had been pounding to that one name and all the questions he’d wanted to ask Yuuri the entire time he’d arrived in Barcelona, but now that Yuuri was actually here here, Victor felt if possible, even more lost. There was so much he didn’t understand still, things he needed to know and not even the Grand Prix final was enough to distract from Victor from the thought that all those answers were waiting for him upstairs.  
  
Victor had won enough Grand Prixs, it wasn’t like it mattered anymore.  
  
‘You’re not even listening to me now,’ Yuri griped, punching Victor’s arm. Victor skated more forward, trying to put distance between himself and Yuri. ‘Hey, don’t ignore me, old man!’  
  
‘Can’t you be a needy little kitten somewhere else? I’m busy, Yuri,’ Victor snapped, officially running out of patience. Yuri stared at him, looking genuinely shocked before it quickly slid back into the same furious scowl Victor knew so well.  
  
‘You’re skating like shit,’ Yuri said hotly and Victor kept moving, tapping his hand impatiently against his thigh as Yuri continued to follow him. ‘And maybe you don’t care, but I do. Do you think I worked this hard to beat you just for you to bail out at the last minute?’  
  
‘I’m not bailing on anything,’ Victor said, but it wasn’t strictly speaking true. Winning seemed too distant a concept, with everything else. Yuri suddenly skated on his edge, skirting right in front of Victor and halting them both.  
  
‘No. It’s worse, you’re giving up!’ Yuri said loudly, almost shouting. Victor hushed him, but he could feel a few eyes turning to them now. Victor glanced around, saw Phichit watching from the other side of the rink. Victor stood straight in his skates, staring Yuri down.  
  
‘Control yourself. If you want to be treated like an adult, then act like one.’  
  
‘I will when you do,’ Yuri retorted savagely and Victor tried to protest, but Yuri thrust an accusatory finger up at Victor’s chin. ‘You’re sulking and it’s embarrassing. People break up, Victor. You’re not the only person in the world to pick a bum boyfriend. So get over yourself and get your shit together.’  
  
Victor reeled quietly, trying to control the shock he felt. When he spoke, Victor tried to keep his voice steady; ‘How did you know about that?’  
  
Yuri blinked, snarl dropping. ‘Know about what?’  
  
‘About Yuuri,’ Victor said, measuredly weighing his words. Yuri backed down instantly, even pushing back in his skates. Victor followed him. ‘I didn’t tell anyone we broke up. No one knew. But you do. How?’  
  
‘It- it was obvious,’ Yuri said, but his voice stammered. He still looked like he wanted to fight, but Victor could see the way Yuri was shrinking in on himself now. ‘You were miserable.’  
  
‘I think you’re lying to me, Yuri,’ Victor said, taking a chance and knowing he was right by the way Yuri looked away. They were nearly to the rink-wall now. ‘Tell me how you knew.’  
  
‘Why do you even care?’ Yuri said between gritted teeth, hackles evidently rising. ‘If you knew the truth about that guy you wouldn’t want him anywhere near you.’  
  
‘What truth?’  
  
‘He was a hooker, Victor!’ Yuri hissed, quiet but fierce. Before he could stop himself, Victor’s hand shot out and he caught Yuri by the chin. Tight and unyielding, almost holding Yuri up to the point of his skates.  
  
‘Don’t you dare you call him that,’ Victor said low, dangerous. Yuri’s eyes flickered, bottle green and nervous. He didn’t squirm. Too proud for it, probably.  
  
‘But-’  
  
‘Enough,’ Victor said firmly and Yuri snapped his mouth shut. ‘You’re talking about things you don’t understand.’  
  
Yuri’s lip curled. He slapped Victor’s hand off him and it echoed. Yuri stared up at Victor from beneath the odd strand of fair hair. ‘Let me go! What are you doing? Are you actually defending that pig? He lied to you! He’s garbage and Yakov agrees with me.’  
  
‘What does Yakov have to do with it?’ Victor asked, thrown and Yuri shrank again. His narrow shoulders hunched up as he crossed his arms defensively, not looking Victor in the eye. ‘Yuri, what aren’t you telling me?’  
  
‘He told me not to say anything,’ Yuri said bravely, even puffing up his chest. Victor knew this dance well by now. Victor tried to relax himself, tried not to let how confused he was show.  
  
‘I won’t be angry with you, Yuri. I promise, but I need you to tell me what Yakov said.’  
  
‘He said he’d fix it,’ Yuri said, looking out across the rink. ‘He said he was protecting you.’  
  
Something was coming together. Victor couldn’t quite see its corners yet, but the shape was revealing itself to him bit by bit. Victor had known that Yakov understood what Yuuri was professionally, but he’d never considered… It hadn’t even crossed Victor’s mind before that the two might be connected, but now he wondered how he could’ve been so blind.  
  
‘I’m done for the day,’ Victor told Yuri, moving to leave before stopping himself. Victor reached out and squeezed Yuri’s shoulder, pinched the bones beneath. ‘Thank you, Yuri. You were right to tell me.’  
  
Yuri didn’t look too happy, but he didn’t stop Victor as Victor skated over to the exit. He could see Yakov walking along the rink-wall, towards Victor and Victor took a deep breath, wondering what he should say. Victor could think of quite a few things he wanted to say, but each of them was barbed and stuck in his throat. By the time he’d made it off the ice, sliding the guards onto his skates, Yakov was waiting.  
  
‘You’re not finished yet,’ Yakov said, already scolding and Victor seethed. When Yakov held out Victor’s water bottle for him, Victor just stared at it with his face growing hot.  
  
‘I’m definitely finished,’ Victor managed to get out, taking a deep breath so he didn’t shout it. A few members of the arena staff were standing close by, adjusting advertising on the rink-wall. Victor met Yakov’s eye, steel hard and curious. Victor felt something snap inside of him. ‘Yakov, what did you do?’  
  
Yakov frowned beneath his fedora, face shadowed. ‘What did I do? What do you mean?’

‘What did you do to Yuuri?’ Victor asked quietly, anger a cool chill in the words though his blood ran hot. Yakov pulled the water bottle back, turning his head like he might look for Yuri Plisetsky. Victor raised a fist, frustrated. ‘My Yuuri, Yakov. What did you do?’  
  
‘Nothing,’ Yakov said gruffly but he wouldn’t meet Victor’s eye. Victor pinched his nose, sighing angrily. When Yakov spoke again, his tone was scolding; ‘Victor, please. You’re making a scene.’  
  
_‘Da, da,’_ Victor said, almost laughing as Christ, how could he have been so foolish? Things began to slot together in Victor’s head. Yakov had gotten a later train from the Rostelecom Cup. Yuuri’s face in the airport, then his radio silence. ‘We wouldn’t want that now, would we? You never liked a mess.’  
  
‘Victor,’ Yakov said sternly and it was like Victor was a child again, Yakov scolding him for speaking too loudly. For staying out too late. Victor fumed, a stung righteousness brewing. ‘I don’t think we should talk about this right now. I don’t want to see you upset.’  
  
‘Why not?’ Victor asked, almost hysterical. ‘You certainly didn’t seem to mind before.’  
  
‘Behave yourself,’ Yakov said and Victor heard himself, just moments ago scolding Yuri for the exact same thing. Victor laughed then, bitter and loud. People stared. Victor had always thought he was ahead of himself, changing before anything could change him first. Turned out it was all for naught, however. Victor was right where he’d started all along.  
  
‘Tell me what you did,’ Victor said before shrugging. ‘Or don’t. Doesn’t matter. Yuuri will tell me when I ask him.’  
  
Yakov chewed his cheek. ‘He’s talking to you?’  
  
‘Is that what you told him not to do?’ Victor asked, furious. He held his forehead, hair spilling over his knuckles as Victor tried to control himself. ‘Jesus. What did you do to get him to stay away?’  
  
‘I did what I had to,’ Yakov said and it wasn’t an answer at all, which was typical. Victor slapped his hands down to his side, so very angry and not even knowing where to start. ‘That boy was bad for you, Vitya.'  
  
‘Don’t,’ Victor warned, shutting Yakov up. ‘You had no right, _no right_ to interfere like that. What did you think you were doing?’  
  
‘I was protecting you,’ Yakov said and Victor laughed again, a cold _hah!_  
  
‘You were protecting yourself,’ Victor said and Yakov didn’t try to deny. Perhaps he didn’t dare try it. ‘You know, I’m a grown man. But these last few weeks, I’ve felt…’ Victor trailed off, face flushing as tears threatened. ‘I’ve felt excluded. And lied to. Like a child being deliberately kept in the dark and I’m asking you, right now, why that was?’  
  
‘I don’t know what Katsuki has done. But I thought I was doing what was best for everyone involved,’ Yakov said quietly, eyes roaming over Victor’s shoulders where the staff were. Victor didn’t even bother to check himself. ‘You and that- that _boy,_ you had no idea what you were doing.’

‘And as my coach you decided to what? Correct my course?’ Victor said meanly. Yakov at least had the grace to look chastened, but somehow, Victor only felt more annoyed by seeing it. ‘Whatever you did, whatever you threatened Yuuri with- it ends now.’

‘Vitya, please-’

‘And after the final this weekend,’ Victor said, barrelling right through Yakov like he wasn’t speaking, because really, Victor didn’t want to hear another excuse out of his mouth. ‘Consider yourself retired as my coach.’

‘Victor!’ Yakov exclaimed, his entire demeanour changing. He almost looked angry, stepping right up to Victor. Yakov reached out, but Victor retreated. He didn’t want Yakov to touch him. ‘Don’t be absurd. You can’t mean that.’  
  
'Oh, believe me,' Victor said coldly. 'I mean it. What kind of man are you?'  
  
‘I was doing what I knew to be best!’ Yakov replied feverishly.

‘I am not a child!’ Victor snapped, and the low murmuring of people around them quietened. Victor stopped himself, chest heaving. He looked down at the ground, unable to look at Yakov any longer. ‘And you are not my father. How dare you do this to me? To Yuuri? He’s my-’ Victor faltered, for a moment. ‘Yuuri is my friend and you hurt him, didn’t you? You scared him off me, like you had any right.’  
  
‘Vitya, you need to stop this,’ Yakov said firmly, gripping Victor’s arm. Victor swerved, turned wildly to get out of Yakov’s grip. Victor teetered in his skates, heart in his throat. ‘Think rationally.’  
  
‘Why?’ Victor asked, having no intention of thinking of anything past the hurt in his gut. The anger that turned like a knife there. ‘Why did you do it?’  
  
‘Do you remember when you were nineteen?’ Yakov asked quietly and Victor felt the statement hit him like a blow. He turned, looking over his shoulder, hands suddenly shaking.

‘What has that got to do with anything?’ Victor asked, voice flat. Tempered. Like glass.

‘You told me then you were a grown man,’ Yakov said, in a tone that could've been mistaken for fond had it been anyone else. If Victor hadn't known him. ‘But you knew nothing then. And you know nothing now.’

‘This has nothing to do with that,’ Victor replied sharply, making fists to stop his fingers quivering together.

‘I know what you want, Vitya,’ Yakov said solemnly, hand out. Victor stood his ground. He didn't reach back. ‘It's what you've always wanted. Here-’ Yakov closed the distance, pressing his hand flat against Victor’s chest. Victor almost stepped away, but something stopped him. ‘You want something to fill you. You always have.’

‘Yuuri is not a cure for that,’ Victor replied carefully. Yakov’s frown deepened. Victor put a hand over Yakov’s. Cold fingers to cold skin. ‘This is not some mad grasp for happiness. Of course Yuuri makes me happy. But Yakov, it's more than that. I like who I am when I'm with him. It's like I'm more myself than I ever was without and even more than that, I think he feels the same way about me. We make each other stronger. That's worth fighting for.’

‘You can’t fight for someone who doesn't want to be won,’ Yakov said and though it sounded like it was meant to be cruel to Victor, Victor couldn't stop the small smile that unfurled itself. Something slow and important, clicking into place like gears.  
  
‘Yuuri is not something to be won,’ Victor said and he knew it to be true. He gently lifted Yakov’s hand from him, untethering like a ship from shore. ‘We are on the same side. And whatever we have to fight, we'll do it together.’  
  
‘But Katsuki, the way he is? I’ve seen it before,’ Yakov said, frowning at Victor’s smile as Victor stepped away, towards the exit. ‘Lilia had the same look on her face Katsuki did when he saw you skate. I don’t… When she could no longer dance, it changed her, Victor. I didn’t want that for you. You need someone who will not resent you for what you have achieved.’  
  
Victor didn’t have anything to say to that at first, but he thought of Yuuri. Of Yuuri’s face, the slope of his nose. How it felt to kiss him and the way Yuuri had looked that morning, shivering and stepping into the shower fully clothed. The quiet, heavy sadness Yuuri carried with him and how frightened Victor had been that Victor would not have been enough to reach through it.  
  
Yakov didn’t deserve to know those things.  
  
‘I’m finished for today,’ Victor said again, adding as much an air of finality as he could. ‘I need the day to myself. I will see you tomorrow for check-in. And you will leave Yuuri alone, otherwise you won't see me at all.’  
  
Yakov didn’t look happy, but he looked resigned as Victor left the arena towards the locker-room. He changed out of his skates quickly, shoving them haphazardly into their bag. Then, Victor left for the hotel. For where he hoped Yuuri was still waiting.

 

* * *

 

When Victor opened the hotel room door, he nearly dropped his gear-bag with the shock of seeing that Yuuri, as promised, was still there. Yuuri had crawled into what had been Victor’s twin, glasses placed on the bedside table. He was asleep, not noticing Victor’s arrival. Victor let himself in and closed the door as quietly as he could. He left his gear-bag there and crossed the small space.  
  
Victor knelt down next to the bed, watching Yuuri’s face. The love that had been fractured in Victor these last few weeks finally felt like it was coming together, steadily making a home for itself where before it had wandered lost. Victor went to brush the hair from Yuuri’s face, but stopped himself. Not while Yuuri was sleeping. It didn’t feel right, somehow. Victor didn’t know if that was allowed.  
  
All this time, Yuuri had had a gun to his head. Victor knew it. He'd  _known_ something wasn't right.   
  
Instead, Victor sat himself on the bed and gently shook Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri roused with a groan of displeasure and Victor’s heart ached with affection as Yuuri blinked blearily up at him. ‘Victor? You’re back?’  
  
‘I’m back,’ Victor said softly, resting on his hand on the bed by Yuuri’s legs. Yuuri shuffled up the bed, sitting against the headboard. He put on his glasses, rubbing the sleep from one of his eyes.  
  
‘I’m sorry. I was just so tired.’  
  
‘Don’t be. I’m glad you slept.’  
  
‘How was training?’ Yuuri asked cautiously and Victor wanted to hug him. Cautious about Yakov, no doubt. Victor wanted to gather Yuuri to his chest and felt like he’d growl threat at anything that dare scare Yuuri again. ‘Are you feeling okay about tomorrow?’  
  
‘Never mind that,’ Victor said, scooting a bit further up. Yuuri’s eyes flickered over his body, but he said nothing. Didn’t stop Victor from getting closer. ‘How’re you feeling?’  
  
‘Better,’ Yuuri said, before licking his lips. Victor blushed, could feel it and kicked himself internally for it. But thankfully, Yuuri didn’t seem to notice. ‘I called the police.’  
  
It took a moment for that to register. ‘Oh. Good! What did they say?’  
  
‘I just left an anonymous tip, they said they would send someone to check him out,’ Yuuri said, eyes fixed over towards the window now. Victor just appreciated the look of him, the way the afternoon light rested on Yuuri’s soft cheeks. His lips. Victor shook himself slightly. He needed to get a grip. ‘I felt better after doing that. Thank you.’  
  
‘Don’t thank me, you’re the one who did it,’ Victor said, smiling and Yuuri looked at him, smiling back. It was all they did for a moment, until for a reason Victor would never be able to explain, they both laughed at the same time. Victor rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry. What you did was brave, I’m proud of you. But I still don’t really know what to say.’  
  
‘Me either,’ Yuuri said, before he reached out and put his hand over Victor’s on the bed. Their nervous laughter ebbed away, until Yuuri was frowning down at where they were touching. ‘Victor, I’m so sorry. For everything I said to you before.’  
  
Victor flexed his fingers, raising his thumb to brush along the side of Yuuri’s hand. It was one, small touch but Victor felt like his world was spinning on the axis of it. ‘I was worried I’d never see you again.’  
  
‘You would’ve survived,’ Yuuri said to that, twisting his hand down so his fingers looped around Victor’s wrist.  
  
‘Maybe,’ Victor said, breathless as he watched Yuuri hold him. Let his hand hang heavy like a stone. ‘But I don’t want to survive you. Before I left, you said it was real. From the first time I kissed you.’  
  
Victor turned his hand then, holding Yuuri’s fingers. Feeling the bed-warm skin, the bones beneath as they pressed up together.  
  
‘Did you mean it?’

‘Yes,’ Yuuri replied, voice a whisper. Victor looked at their hands, the dark of Yuuri’s skin against his own. Victor loved looking at it. ‘I don’t even know where to start. There’s so much I need to tell you.’

Victor didn’t want to get into it now. He’d gotten enough from Yakov and now, all Victor wanted was to have this moment for himself and Yuuri alone.

‘You said you can’t tell me that you love me,’ Victor said and he tried, he really tried not to make it sound like an accusation but it still ran awkward. Victor looked at Yuuri’s face, needing to see. ‘But do you have any feelings for me, at all?’

‘Victor,’ Yuuri sighed, his other hand coming up from the blanket. He touched Victor's face, fingers skimming the line of Victor’s cheek. ‘I do. I really do. But I’m a- ah. I’m afraid.’  
  
When Victor frowned, Yuuri pulled his hand back. Victor’s cheek went cold.  
  
‘I understand if your feelings for me have changed,’ Yuuri said, looking uncomfortable. ‘I hurt you, I know and if you just let me explain, I will. But it doesn’t make it right. If you’ve decided you can’t be bothered anymore I wouldn’t blame you.’  
  
Victor tried to interrupt, but Yuuri kept going.  
  
‘I’ve failed. At a lot of things, over the years,’ Yuuri continued, his hold on Victor’s hand tightening for a moment. ‘But it was different this time. This time, there was you. And your feelings. And I let you down, I let you down and-’ Yuuri stopped, his words stammering to a halt as he suddenly tried to catch his breath. Victor could see the shine on Yuuri’s eyes behind the lenses of his glasses. ‘I’ve been thinking about it, wondering how I could ever make it up to you. Wondering if you just wanted to quit on me al- altogether.’  
  
Victor moved. He swung his legs up on the bed, hearing Yuuri’s surprised squeak. Yuuri watched with his dark eyes wide, the colour catching amber, almost orange from the light from the window. Victor straddled himself over Yuuri, leg on either side of Yuuri’s hips beneath the blanket. Tears streamed, silent but fast on both of Yuuri’s cheek as Victor moved his hands up, cupping Yuuri’s face.  
  
‘I’ve never been good with people crying,’ Victor said gently, brushing the tears away. Making Yuuri’s glasses crooked in the process. ‘And you’ve cried enough today, I think.’  
  
Yuuri blinked more tears and Victor wiped those, too. ‘But… I don’t-’  
  
‘I want you, Yuuri,’ Victor said, meeting Yuuri’s eye and Victor felt his heart swell inside him like a tide. Threatening to pull them both out to sea. ‘Nothing has changed for me.’  
  
‘You want me?’ Yuuri repeated, sounding dazed.  
  
‘For as long as you’ll let me have you,’ Victor promised, settling his weight more steadily onto Yuuri’s lap. Bringing them closer and closer, almost chest to chest now. Yuuri still looked confused.  
  
‘But Victor, you can’t mean that. You don’t know how hard it will be. My job, my life- it comes with problems. I can’t drag you into it, drag your career into it.’  
  
‘It’s my life and my career,’ Victor said, trying a smile that Yuuri didn’t return, still looking troubled. Yuuri’s hands were hovering between them, his fingers just grazing against Victor’s chest, almost like he was afraid to touch. ‘So I’ll make those decisions, thank you.’  
  
Yuuri said nothing to that, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. Victor reached up and straightened Yuuri’s glasses best he could.  
  
‘I know about Yakov, Yuuri,’ Victor said and Yuuri’s entire expression changed. His eyes went wide, mouth open and panic spilled down his face like paint. Victor could practically feel Yuuri tense beneath him, like he was getting ready to run. Victor settled his weight more certainly. ‘Don’t worry about it, Yuuri. He’s not going to do anything.’  
  
‘But- are you sure?’ Yuuri asked, sounding desperate and Victor felt another flash of anger at Yakov for daring put such a fearful look on Yuuri’s face.  
  
‘I promise you, Yuuri,’ Victor said, certain. Whatever Yakov threatened, he wouldn’t dare follow through with Victor hovering on the edge of firing him. It wasn’t pretty, but it was true and Victor intended to use it. ‘I’m not going to let anyone scare you, or try to control you. I don’t care who they are, stranger or coach. You don’t deserve it and I won’t allow it.’  
  
Victor stopped then, worried he’d said too much as Yuuri looked quite overwhelmed. Victor wondered if Yuuri would bite back with resentment again, tell Victor off for trying to protect him. Victor knew Yuuri could protect himself, but that didn’t mean Victor was going to leave Yuuri off to fight all his battles alone. Victor held himself steady, his hands growing hot against Yuuri’s slowly flushing cheeks.  
  
‘Why?’ Yuuri asked at last, one hand turning to come palm up against the soft nylon of Victor’s under armour. Hot skin pressing through to Victor’s chest. ‘Why would you do all of this? Why would you choose me?’  
  
Why you?’ Victor repeated, before he laughed in disbelief. He petted Yuuri’s hair, trailing back down to his jawline. Victor just couldn’t stop touching him now he knew he was allowed. ‘I already told you why. How many times are you going to ask before you understand? The real question is _why me._ You’re the one with a thousand options.’  
  
‘None of them are you,’ Yuuri answered and Victor rewarded him with a grin, happiness bursting inside of him. Bright, beautiful. Starlight.  
  
‘And that’s why you,’ Victor smiled and Yuuri blushed. Victor’s heart skipped three steps. And fell down, hitting every rib until Victor’s stomach swept along with it. ‘No one picks me, not the way you pick me.’  
  
‘What does that mean? You’re Victor Nikiforov!’ Yuuri said, sounding bewildered.  
  
‘So you seem intent on reminding me. You and everyone else I know,’ Victor said frankly, shaking his head and Yuuri frowned, like he was unsure what to make of that. ‘But that’s not why you want to be with me, is it?’  
  
‘No!’ Yuuri replied loudly, looking horrified by the very thought of such. Victor smiled again. Yuuri’s hand was firm over Victor’s heart. ‘But we can’t keep doing this to each other, Victor. I can’t keep walking away from you.’  
  
‘Good. Maybe you’ll stop altogether,’ Victor said, leaning forward until their foreheads were pressed together. They were so close now, they were breathing each other’s air. Victor closed his eyes, lulled by the smell of Yuuri’s skin, the sweetness of it. The way Yuuri’s head tilted, nose brushing along Victor’s.  
  
It was like the pool. Victor was floating, suspended in the gravity of something all around him and simultaneously untouchable. Victor’s hands trailed down Yuuri’s neck, Yuuri’s hands spreading like wings over Victor’s chest. Down along his ribs.  
  
Just as Yuuri’s lips grazed his own did Victor snap out of it.

‘Yuuri, stop,’ he said quietly and Yuuri froze. Victor leaned back, giving them some distance though it pained him. But Victor didn’t want to push. He reached out before stopping himself, fingers just grazing the dark tan of Yuuri’s cheek. ‘You don't have to do that.’

‘I-’ Yuuri opened his mouth but Victor shushed him gently.

‘That's not why you're here,’ Victor said carefully, watching Yuuri’s face for any trace of uncertainty. Any hint that Yuuri may be uncomfortable. ‘I want you safe. That's all. You don't have to do anything.’

Yuuri was quiet for a long moment, then; ‘What if I want to do something?’  
  
They looked at each other for one long, uncertain heartbeat. Then nothing was uncertain anymore.  
  
Yuuri’s leaned forward, arms out. His hands slid around Victor’s waist, tugging Victor forward until they were flush. Victor wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri’s hands were like brands, pushing up the back of Victor’s under armour as their lips met.  
  
Yuuri kissed Victor like it was all he had ever been waiting to do. He was eager, Victor melting at once with a soft sigh. They kissed, open and closed, sliding together and Victor rocking slightly on Yuuri’s lap as Yuuri slipped his tongue between Victor’s lips. Victor met it with his own, tasting the staleness of Yuuri’s sleep until it was hot. Opened his mouth wider as a moan of relief crept out of him, unbidden. Yuuri took advantage, sucking on Victor’s tongue before sweeping over the swell of it again almost tenderly.  
  
It was the kind of kiss that demanded time. It was slow in how Yuuri’s lips brushed against Victor's until his own started tingle with the attention, deep in how Victor could swallow around Yuuri’s moan as Victor licked against his teeth. Yuuri tugged on Victor’s bottom lip, sucking it until it was plump and Victor let him, because Victor was so gone.  
  
It wasn’t like picking up where they left off. It was more urgent than that, like they were both afraid it would end at any moment. Yuuri’s kisses became wetter, his hands more bold as they swept up and down Victor’s back. His hands trailed fire on Victor’s skin, burning through him until Victor felt like his bones were singed. Chalked black from the heat of Yuuri’s touch.  
  
_I love you,_ Victor thought as Yuuri moved a hand up into Victor’s hair. Fingers through the soft, short strands in the back. Yuuri kissed Victor through it, groaning as Victor held Yuuri’s face in earnest, pulling him closer. Kissing him deeper. Victor loved him and it didn’t matter that Yuuri had left, because then Yuuri had come back. He had come back and he was _here._ _  
_ _  
_ ‘Yuuri~’ Victor sighed, breaking the kiss as Yuuri used his grip to tilt Victor’s head back. Yuuri’s mouth was hot, wet and searching as he kissed his way down Victor’s jaw. He found Victor’s pulse point, nipping with his teeth and Victor moaned, loud and shameless. Yuuri opened his mouth, leaving filthy kisses down the side of Victor’s neck and Victor’s knees were a weak foundation.  
  
‘I missed you,’ Yuuri said, releasing Victor’s hair so he could kiss Victor proper again. Victor went, head spinning like he’d just landed a quad. He felt the impact of Yuuri’s kiss like his skate to ice, rocking all the way through him. And Yuuri caught him, Victor’s nails scritching through Yuuri’s hair and Yuuri’s hands slipping back around Victor’s waist.  
_  
_ Victor’s hands wandered, his belly fizzling with the hot, thorny sting of arousal and Yuuri’s hands dipped lower, almost to his ass. Victor arched his back, trying to tempt and Yuuri delivered, hands cupping Victor low and tugging him, if possible, closer.  
  
‘I want you,’ Victor said between kisses, holding onto Yuuri so tight he may bruise. ‘Please let-’ Kiss, Yuuri’s tongue warm and wet against his own. ‘Let me have you.’  
  
‘Gods, Victor,’ was all Yuuri said to that, all of it rushing out of him in a breath that crested against Victor’s lips. His grip on Victor’s ass strengthened and Victor whimpered, pushing himself down. His cock was half-hard in his sweats, but the blanket was too thick a barrier to know if Yuuri was the same. Victor kissed through Yuuri’s words; ‘Yes. Always.’  
  
Victor leaned back just far enough to get a hold of Yuuri’s (his) pajama top and tear it off Yuuri as fast as possible. It took Yuuri’s glasses with it, but he didn’t seem to mind, rushing forward to kiss the hollow of Victor’s throat as Yuuri worked Victor’s under armour up. Victor’s shirt was tossed to the floor with Yuuri’s and they met again, skin to skin. Yuuri’s eyes raked down Victor, and Victor shivered.  
  
It felt like he was being split open, right down the middle by the colour of Yuuri’s eyes. They were so dark, his lips pink and Victor wanted to kiss him, but found he couldn’t move until Yuuri did. Yuuri reached out, tracing a web with his fingers.  
  
‘What is it?’ Victor asked when Yuuri still hadn’t moved, eyes seriously narrowed. Yuuri looked up, dark lashes a fan.  
  
‘I just can’t believe you’re real sometimes,’ Yuuri admitted quietly and Victor couldn’t not kiss him then.  
  
Yuuri’s hands ran over Victor’s shoulders, bumping along the muscle and bone. Pushed in hard like Yuuri were hoping to leave his mark with every touch. The idea had Victor keening into the kiss, tugging impatiently at every part of Yuuri he could reach. Yuuri reached down, grabbed Victor under the thighs and canted forward.  
  
Victor made a soft noise of surprise as he was suddenly on his back on the bed, Yuuri sliding gorgeously between his legs. The blanket had fallen away in the scramble and through the thin fabric of sweats and pajamas, Victor could feel it. The hard line of Yuuri’s cock pressing down against his own, the ghosted feeling of it making Victor’s mouth water as he remembered what it was like to have it in his mouth, to hold it in his hand.  
  
Victor turned his hands in, blunt nails scrawling down Yuuri’s back as Yuuri started to suck what would no doubt be marks, if not bites into Victor’s neck. Victor adored them, wished he could keep them always. Victor’s entire world was Yuuri; breathing Yuuri’s air and smelling the scent of his skin, feeling the soft give of Yuuri’s body beneath his hands. Feeling the pressing, rubbing stiffness of Yuuri’s arousal against his own.  
  
‘Yuuri, please,’ Victor pleaded, not entirely sure what he was asking for. It was getting hot between them, blistering almost and Victor wondered if they’d burn away together. When Victor had woken up that morning, Yuuri was over a continent away and now he was here, kissing Victor until Victor was dizzy, fading like something being worn down.  
  
‘Can I-? I want to,’ Yuuri babbled uselessly as Victor had managed to get a hand between them, pressing it hard and flat against the swell in Yuuri’s pajamas. Yuuri whined, grinding down and Victor cupped his hand, loving the weight of it.  
  
‘Yes, yes. Anything, please,’ Victor said before gasping, Yuuri robbing his breath by reaching down and pulling Victor’s hand off with considerable force. Yuuri held Victor’s wrist like a shackle, pressing the softest kiss to Victor’s pulsepoint there.  
  
‘I…’ Yuuri said, word brushed into Victor’s skin. But Yuuri never finished, instead releasing Victor to lean down and kiss him again. If it was a distraction, it worked and Victor let his mouth open to accept what Yuuri gave.  
  
Yuuri’s hands vanished between them, roughly tugging at Victor’s sweats, taking the underwear down with them. Yuuri got them down just enough to pull Victor out of them and Victor sighed in relief. When Yuuri leant back down, Victor moaned a soft _oh god_ as it was the feeling of Yuuri’s bare cock against his own.  
  
Yuuri’s hand was warm and large, wrapping tight around the pair of them. Victor closed his eyes, mouth open in a gutteral noise from the back of his throat, too gone to moan properly. It felt so good. They were so close, Yuuri a firm weight on top of Victor and his lips soft on Victor’s throat. Yuuri seemed frozen, before his hips pushed forward slowly and he whined when his cock slide along the length of Victor’s.  
  
Victor was leaking down himself, could feel the tackiness of where precome pooled between himself and Yuuri. It felt gorgeous and Victor rolled his hips, trying to match the way Yuuri steadily pumped into his hand. The bulbous head of Yuuri’s cock pushed up against the ridge of Victor’s, foreskin bunching under Yuuri’s fingers and Victor felt entirely at Yuuri’s mercy. He never wanted to leave.  
  
‘You’re so good, Christ,’ Victor got out between his teeth, eyes still shut and hands grasping desperately at Yuuri’s shoulder. The heat in Victor’s gut was growing thick, heavy and churning deeper. Made his balls heavy and Victor was really afraid he wasn’t going to last much longer.  
  
Yuuri kissed him, barely one at all but their lips met and Victor tried to kiss back. But it was all feeling so good, and building so high. Victor licked at Yuuri’s lips, raising his legs best he could around his knotted sweats. He hooked them over Yuuri’s, just under Yuuri’s ass and tried to tug Yuuri closer. Victor fucked up into the tight ring of Yuuri’s hand, swallowing Yuuri’s moan with him. Yuuri’s cock was so thick against him, it felt so fucking good.  
  
‘You- you’re everything,’ Yuuri panted against Victor’s mouth, squeezing his fingers on the downstroke and Victor threw his head back, seeing stars for a brief moment. He was so close. So, so close.  
  
Yuuri seemed to sense it and started to roll his hips more deliberately. The drag of his cock along Victor’s was sinful, Victor’s hands a vice on Yuuri’s shoulders. Victor was grinding with the sole purpose of chasing that feeling now, the tight band of arousal strung so tight it was bound to snap any second.  
  
Yuuri’s stroke grew uneven over them, but faster and Victor choked on his own breath as his orgasm surprised him. When he came, it felt it had been punched out of him and he could feel the ticklish spread of his come over Yuuri, his own stomach. His cock ached from oversensitivity, but Victor didn’t move and sighed happily when he felt Yuuri come a few moments later, his mouth open against Victor’s cheek.  
  
They lay there together, Yuuri’s skin fire hot against Victor and showing no signs of cooling down. Victor brushed his hand through Yuuri’s hair, holding him close and uncaring about the mess between them. Slowly, Yuuri leant up on his elbows, holding his right off awkwardly to avoid getting come on the blanket.  
  
‘Hey,’ Victor said before Yuuri could say anything, still brushing Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri blinked down at him, smiling shyly. Victor laughed at the idea.  
  
‘Hey,’ Yuuri replied, still smiling. With his round cheeks, all pink. Victor loved him. ‘We should clean up.’  
  
Victor made a noise of disapproval, but Yuuri slid off him anyway. He returned a few moments later, pajama bottoms pulled back up and with a wet cloth from the bathroom. Victor jumped from the cold damp as Yuuri started to wipe him down. Victor watched Yuuri’s face, affection blooming all the way down to his toes at Yuuri’s look of concentration as he dragged the cloth of Victor’s stomach.  
  
Once that was done, Victor regretfully tugged his own sweats up. But he still couldn’t find the energy to move, too happy to think of doing anything but lying upside down on the bed and watching Yuuri, who was watching him right back from where he was perched on the edge.  
  
Yuuri touched Victor’s cheek, ran his fingers along the coarse line of his side burn. He still hadn’t shaved yet. Victor closed his eyes, never feeling more comfortable, happy and wanted. The only thing missing from this moment was Makkachin. Victor sank further into the bed, content. He turned his head as Yuuri held his cheek in earnest, kissing the skin of Yuuri’s palm.

‘Thank you, _miliy,’_ he said, words peppered to the lines of Yuuri’s hand. Victor opened his eyes, catching the way Yuuri was looking at him. Almost frowning. ‘Yuuri? What is it?’

‘You never told me what it meant,’ Yuuri replied, near whispering. Victor wrinkled his nose, confused but before he could say anything, Yuuri continued; _‘Miliy._ What does it mean?’

‘Oh,’ Victor said, understanding dawning. He smiled as his cheeks turned warm, bashful. ‘It’s like dear, or maybe darling? Just a pet name, you know.’  
  
Victor tried to downplay, tried to hide how embarrassed he was. Victor had been using it for so long, it seemed so silly now to try and explain. But Yuuri’s stern look of concentration slipped, eyes going a little rounder as something evidently crossed his mind. His fingers trembled against Victor’s cheek, tickling almost.

‘Why did you decide to call me that?’ Yuuri asked and Victor shrugged.

‘I never gave it much thought. Just felt right,’ he answered truthfully. Victor watched as Yuuri’s little scrunchy nose returned. ‘Why?’

‘Have you called other people that before?’ Yuuri said and Victor wasn’t sure why he felt like he was being tested, but the air between them suddenly grew quite tense. Victor chewed his words for a moment, the memory of the last person he called _miliy_ surfacing above the murky waters of his resolve.

‘One person before, definitely. Possibly two. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure,’ Victor replied, being as honest as he could manage. ‘Like I said, I’ve never given it much thought.’

Yuuri it seemed, was giving the subject a great deal of thought. He looked so stern- dark eyes hard like glass and Victor could practically see his brain working behind them. After a while, Yuuri broke the silence Victor was too afraid to.

‘Can you call me something else?’ Yuuri asked very, very quietly. Like he didn’t want to be heard.

‘Of course,’ Victor said immediately, willing to do anything. After all, it was just a word. ‘What would you like?’

‘Something you’ve never called someone else before,’ Yuuri answered quickly, this clearly being what he wanted from the moment Victor had confessed to his previous use of _miliy._ ‘Something just for me.’

Victor suspected he understood the motivation here. He and Yuuri were different. They were almost a couple, if not there already. And Yuuri had been an escort a long time. Victor understood that Yuuri must’ve been called everything from _dear,_ to _babe_ to perhaps things less savoury. Maybe that’s what made Victor’s answer so obvious.

‘How about Yuuri?’ he said and going by Yuuri’s raised eyebrows, the silent parting of his lips, Victor had surprised him again. ‘I’ll think of something special for when you’re mad at me, something just for you. But for now, how does Yuuri sound?’

Yuuri bit his lip and Victor wondered if he was too afraid to ask. If so, Victor would tell him.

‘Yuuri has always been enough for me,’ Victor said, placing his own hand over Yuuri’s. ‘But you can be my sun. My moon, my stars. I’ll call you every constellation I know. As long as I can call you my Yuuri first.’  
  
Yuuri’s eyes were shining and Victor realised too late that Yuuri was tearing up. Before he could apologise, Yuuri surged forward, pressing his lips against Victor’s in a lopsided kiss. Victor reached out, getting a good grip and swinging Yuuri down. Yuuri landed on his back and Victor quickly lay on top of him, barely breaking the kiss through the whole thing.  
  
‘Yuuri,’ Victor said, kissing Yuuri again and feeling Yuuri smile through it. ‘Yuuri.’ A kiss to Yuuri’s jawline. ‘My Yuuri.’ Teeth to Yuuri’s neck, just enough to make him laugh. Victor leant back up, watching how happiness bled pink down Yuuri’s neck in a blush. ‘Sounds perfect,  _da?'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's commented, who's messaged me and reached out. I am so grateful and humbled that you enjoy my story and I can never, never thank you all enough. x
> 
> www.victorsporosya.tumblr.com


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